Repens
by short-skirtbluescarf
Summary: Three years after returning to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes meets his female equal, Stephanie Thomas. The clever witty niece of Mrs. Hudson constantly challenges him and sends him on the most unexpected case of his career.
1. A Guest in 221B

When he walked into his flat he saw the creature sitting contently in his chair by the window. With a snarl his first thought was fan-girl; he detested the very word. At first glance she was undeniably… attractive was an acceptable word. Her long flowing red hair draped over her bare shoulders to her chest. The sleeveless green satin blouse had straps two inches wide and was almost too low cut for his personal taste- not that he had time to be noticing such details. Ivory colored heels peeked out from under the hem of her dark navy boot cut jeans. All of this was taken note of in his first glance of her. The stranger's posture was relaxed with just a hint of anxiousness- sitting up straight with her legs and arms loosely crossed. She grinned a little, almost teasingly but more confident than playful.

Now came the analytical viewing of his unwanted surprise guest. Her bangs were cut unevenly so she or a friend had done it- money is apparently a bit tight or she simply doesn't care enough to go to a proper hair salon. Her nails had been chewed off but painted with a nice ruby color- a horrid nervous habit that was never grown out of. Cover-up was fresh in a natural looking style- obviously trying to look her best. Her small silver treble clef necklace suggested she was somehow involved with music, most likely a singer since her fingers were not callused in any way. The expensive watch on her left wrist was an older fashion, probably a meaningful gift from a few years back- family member from the looks of it. The few tiny holes in her jeans were not present when the jeans were purchased- she wasn't entirely the indoor girl she appeared.

"Let me guess, adoring fan?" he sneered while taking off his scarf and coat, hiding every last trace of his curiosity.

"Not quite," she chuckled before slightly rolling her eyes.

"You came in through the front door, but how?" he sighed, almost bored yet somehow intrigued. She was supposed to be dull by now- it had already been a minute-but she wasn't the average young female he was accustomed to dealing with.

"Oh, I have connections," she smiled again, pleased with giving him an apparent challenge. "Is there something familiar about me, Mr. Holmes?"

Yes, there was. She reminded him of a certain woman he knew a few years back with her mysterious cheerful indifference. But there was something else about her that was so natural to him, as if he already knew her. And those brilliant sparkling eyes.

"Oh, come on. You must be, what, eighteen?" Sherlock growled before grabbing his violin and sitting in the chair opposite of her, where John usually sat.

"_Please_." She groaned with sarcasm. "You're the genius mastermind. SherlockHolmes." She paused and seemed more relaxed than before. "I'm not eighteen. Look at me for heaven's sake."

He was officially more annoyed than amused by this, this thing!

"Alright, you. Tell me who you are and then get out of my flat. Surly you have better things to do."

"My name is unwanted, mischievous, and restless," dramatically sighed the young woman. It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes at her overly theatrical reply.

"Getting bored," he loudly announced in a flat tone. He quickly raised his violin and bow.

Before a single note was played, she spoke again, "I'm not here to entertain you, Mr. Holmes. I'm not here to spy on you for that matter. And I'm no fan-girl as you undoubtedly suspect." She paused but received no reaction from the arrogant brute blankly staring at her. "I'm familiar because I inherited more of my aunt's looks than either of my parents'- thank goodness. "StephanieThomas is the name. My aunt is your beloved…"

"Mrs. Hudson," he finished, slightly amused again. "I'm afraid the dear woman has never mentioned you," he stated in hopes of making the girl feel underappreciated or unloved.

"That's alright. I don't have the pleasure of seeing her much anymore. Her and mother had somewhat of a falling out a few years back. I was given the choice of taking a holiday with my parents to the states or staying with my dear aunt-who just happens to be land lady to the great SherlockHolmes- who I imagined a bit taller. No offense but I'm not here for you, per say. Just happens that of the two choices I was given you are far more interesting to me than the states. America is so _dull_."

"Dull" was said by Stephanie and Sherlock in unison.

Immediately, she put on that dopey little grin again. It was starting to drive him crazy and make him more uncomfortable than he had been in quite a while. A nicotine patch was soon to come. Not having anything to say, Sherlock began playing a neutral tone, neither happy nor sad. Neutral- how he wished he could feel about this little pest. For a moment he wondered what the devil she was doing in his living room and couldn't think of a good reason she was not with her aunt at present. Suddenly remembering that today was grocery shopping day for Mrs. Hudson, it made him all the more agitated that the land lady did not take her mischievous niece with her. Sherlock then started to wonder exactly how long the mysterious little thing had been waiting for him.

"And you are not with her because…?" he stopped playing to wait for her response, letting it be known that she wasn't entirely welcome there.

Stephanie uncrossed her legs, leaned in towards him, blushed, and finally asked, "If you were a dumb little girl, wouldn't you rather meet a legend than go grocery shopping with your ever lecturing aunt?"

Sherlock placed his instrument on the floor, leaned in towards her as she had done to him, and stared into her eyes for the first time, studying her. She was neither completely relaxed nor nervous in the least; she was teasing him now. The girl was attempting to play little pointless mind games with him. Not in the mood to play, but still so irritatingly curious, he felt the corner of his mouth rise in a crooked smirk.

"But you aren't a 'dumb little girl', are you?"

Not breaking his stare, even moving in ever so slightly closer, she stated, "You are the brilliant detective. I'll leave you to your deductions… Mr. Holmes."

Her calling him "Mr. Holmes" was beginning to get on his nerves. Then again, he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted her to call him. He didn't want her to continue grinning in that way but he didn't know what other expression he would prefer. Her indifference towards him was unexpected and wounded his pride a bit more than he would even admit to himself. But why should he want her to be more interested in him than she appeared to be? Was it a bluff? After arguing with himself about such trivial things, Sherlock decided that he officially didn't care for Mrs. Hudson's niece.

"Hello, Sherlock!"

The land lady's greeting startled them both. They speedily returned to their previous positions, Stephanie sitting straight with legs crossed and Sherlock sitting back in John's chair reaching down for his violin.

"I see the two of you have met. This is my…"

"Stephanie, your sister's daughter," Sherlock rudely interrupted.

"Yes, silly me," the woman giggled. "Of course you probably knew who she was the first time you laid eyes on her."

"Actually, it took him about three minutes, auntie. He wasn't quite as quick as you described. It must be an off day for him," the annoyance gloated, making Sherlock's blood boil.

He could not believe that she had just called him out and degraded his intelligence. It was not an _off day_, he thought to himself- she was the one who was "off". She may as well have been calling him names with that little ridiculous smile of hers. He would make a proper fool of her if only he could read her a little better. Yes, Miss Thomas reminded him of someone indeed. He entertained the thought of this, the red hair and all, being a clever disguise but knew that it clearly wasn't so. This was no Irene Adler, though very similar.

John walked in and immediately realized the multiple moods floating around in the room. was happy as usual, Mrs. Hudson putting away the week's groceries. Sherlock had been put in a mood more foul than usual and that could only mean he was extremely irritated by something- or someone. His gaze finally found the beautiful stranger sitting in the chair, a possible culprit of Sherlock's dagger-like eyes. He walked over to the lovely creature and held out his hand with the most charming smile he could manage without being obviously giddy.

"Hello, my name is…"

"John! Yes, my aunt has told me all about you. It's a true pleasure!"

There was that blasted happy expression again. Did she ever _not_ smile? Sherlock noticed his friend's rosy cheeks and modest glance to the floor. The girl hadn't expressed such warm friendly comments upon meeting him and he was the one who did all of the work. Were her ill manners a reaction to his lack of concern towards her from the very start? If he had been more pleasant to her, would she have been kinder to him in return? Oh, this child was a nuisance in every meaning of the word.

"Your aunt," John asked, still acting as a school boy with an elementary crush.

"Yes, John! Cassidy is the niece of our lovely land lady," Sherlock explained in a flat tone.

"Stephanie," the girl corrected with a disapproving glance, knowing good and well he was taunting her.

"Instead of taking a delightful holiday to America, this," not knowing what to call the little trouble maker, he continued after a short pause. "She preferred to visit London, with her aunt."

Noticing Sherlock's uneasiness, John couldn't help but chuckle. With a glance from the cool and collected Stephanie to his maddened flat mate, John returned his attention to the young woman and whispered, "Have you crossed this fellow in any way?"

Briefly staring at Sherlock, she turned back towards John and announced, "He isn't pleased with me. You see, your Mr. Holmes expected me to be a fan of his who had snuck in to wait for him. My being so cheerful puts him off in a horrible way and he flinches every time I refer to him as 'Mr. Holmes '. He is having a bit of a challenge in figuring me out- either he doesn't want to so I may remain a pleasant mystery to him or he disciplines himself to not overanalyze those he cares or could possibly care about."

Everyone in the room was completely shocked and speechless. Hiding his own surprise, Sherlock studied the ceiling and plunked at the violin strings a few times. John Watson was impressed at this unexpected display of aptitude. This was truly an extraordinary young woman who was well on her way to becoming a female Sherlock Holmes.

"My gracious, that was fantastic! If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?" John asked, trying to contain his shock for his best friend's sake. This reminded him of the first deduction he heard Sherlock utter.

"Yes, how old are you, Cassidy?" Sherlock asked in a sarcastic manner, just to be crude.

Ignoring his childish comment, Stephanie answered the pleasant doctor as if she didn't hear Sherlock, "I'm a full adult, Dr. Watson. That is all you need to know."

"Oh, don't be modest," Sherlock groaned in disgust, still not making eye contact with anyone. "You can't be that old, still living with mummy and daddy."

"I go to university, actually and graduate next spring. My parents pay for whatever my scholarship doesn't so in return I visit them for the summer. Besides, it's much cheaper than renting a flat for three months."

"You couldn't find a flat mate?" Sherlock chuckled, continuing to insult the girl.

"It's rare that I find someone tolerable enough to live with- but I'm sure you don't have that problem." She had turned the tables on him once again. Returning her attention back to John, she became pleasant and asked, "How do you manage, doctor? You and Mr. Holmes seem so very different- opposite ends of the manners spectrum."

It was said in a tone that would be used to comment on the loveliness of the weather. But she was politely speaking extremely ill of him. From only feet away, she was digging her nails into his brain, teasing him with the games he usually amused himself with at the expense of others. _So this is what it is like_, Sherlock thought in silent rage. _Well, missy, I've been playing the game much longer and can play longer and more efficient_, he mused to himself.

"He really isn't like this most of the time. He just… doesn't like unexpected company," Watson lied.

"It's quite alright. As I told your friend, I'm not here for him or his company. I do not wish to get to know him on a personal level, which he clearly does not desire of me likewise, and I was simply waiting on my aunt."

"Now, Steph, don't upset poor Sherlock. He either had a rough day or he's going to have a rough night," her aunt chimed in from the kitchen.

Sherlock stopped fidgeting with the violin and actually began to play a lively careless tune. Knowing exactly what was going on, John gave an apologetic look to their pretty guest. She gave him a small nod in return, thanking him for being on her side.

"Alright, Steph, let's leave these gentlemen to their work. If you need anything, boys, I'll be downstairs," she stated in the familiar melodic tone she used in her greetings and farewells. The two of them had become more like family tonher than merely renters.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, doctor," the girl sighed with an _oh well_ shrug.

"It was absolutely lovely to meet you as well, Stephanie. I hope we'll see more of you. How long are you staying?"

"_Mr. Holmes_ will have to put up with me for an entire fortnight, I'm afraid," she replied with a tone that almost sent Sherlock into a mad rant.

Not only had she called him with the purpose of further irritating him, but she made him out to be the nasty one in this little game they had started. Who could make the other scream first? Sherlock felt a new obsession coming over him. It was going to be his personal mission to make Cassidy pull out all of her red hair in fourteen days- starting now.

"Have a wonderful evening, Miss Cassidy. I hope you find your visit less dull than the states," he said in a pleasant tone filled to the brim with mockery.

"Oh, it already has been… Mr. Holmes."

By the time he glanced over at her, she was already out the door. Rising to his feet, Sherlock continued playing the tune he had started just moments ago. He paced back and forth with an energy Watson hadn't seen in at least a week. Now sitting on the sofa, John watched his on edge friend while trying not to smile.

"Well, that was something different," he noted, waiting for the anxious Sherlock's reply.

"Different? What was different?" Sherlock asked with an oblivious expression, now only carrying the instrument as he paced.

"Oh, you can't be serious," John laughed at his friend's unrelenting stubbornness. "Look what she's done to you. She made you look like a fool and has captured your special attention all in one meeting. Surly there must be some sort of award or certificate for that."

"The girl has done nothing of the sort. She's merely read my page and your blog a thousand times and has dipped her little toes into the ocean of the science of deduction. She's nothing but a fan-girl, John."

"She's more than that if she can get you all worked up like this, wouldn't you say? I mean, she hardly even looked at you."

"She intently stared at me before anyone else was here, playing little games. Annoying and dull," Sherlock growled, in a more horrible mood than before.

After watching Holmes for a few silent seconds, the obvious hit John like a bag of bricks. How could it have taken him this long to see it? There had only been one woman to outsmart Sherlock and they had possibly just met the second. And there was one thing Sherlock couldn't resist- an amusing challenge.

"You really fancy her."

Stopping in his tracks, the rude genius had a most unpleasant expression before assuring, "How could anyone fancy _that_?"

"I'm sorry. 'That'?"

"Yes, that, that…"

"My goodness, you are at a loss for words. You can't even think of a horrid name to call her. You always have horrid names to call people."

"That repulsive creature! There, are you happy now?"

"Well, if you don't fancy her, then would you mind if I had a go at her, chat her up a bit?"

"Would I mind? Why on earth would I mind? The girl is nothing to me."

"Stephanie, not Cassidy by the way, is hardly a girl. She's a beautiful, intelligent…"

"Bored!" Sherlock yelled, playing the last portion of the song he had started several times.

"I think you do like her though. Only one other woman…"

Sherlock began playing louder and louder until John wouldn't be heard even if he chose to finish his sentence. The friend shook his head not understanding why such a brilliant man had to be so bloody difficult. It wasn't until John was down the stairs and out of sight that Holmes stopped and threw the violin down. Staring out the window with his hands crossed behind his back, a million thoughts were flashing through his mind.

"Challenge accepted, Miss Thomas."


	2. Something New

The next morning, Mrs. Hudson was interviewing potential renters for the flat that would be empty in a few weeks. This meant that the young beautiful Miss Thomas would be downstairs alone. John saw this as the perfect opportunity to have a bit of alone time with her. Walking down the stairs, he found that her being quite younger slightly intimidated and aroused him. She had to be about twenty-four, though her looks suggested very late twenties.

He knocked on the door and waited patiently. Another few knocks and his chest started to tighten. The very idea was suddenly ridiculous. Just as he turned to walk away, the door opened. When he began to walk back to the door, he found Stephanie wrapped in a big fluffy bath towel. The glorious inappropriate sight filled his face with heat.

"Hello, John! Good morning to you!" She might as well have sang the wonderful words rather than speak them.

"Ah, Miss Thomas, I see I've caught you at a bad time," the good doctor sighed, doing his best to look anywhere else.

"Nonsense, come on in and I'll be dressed in a flash." She moved aside for John to enter and closed the door behind him.

"You are always so cheerful. It's quite refreshing," John chuckled, still nervous and unsure how to talk to a woman of such beauty and mystery- one entirely different than any other woman in London, despite what Sherlock claimed.

"It must be different to say the least, considering you live with the most pessimistic man in all of England. Perhaps in all the world," she laughed from her room down the hall.

Her clothes were put on and moments later the two were sipping tea in Mrs. Hudson's living room. Stephanie put on some comfortable lounging clothes but still looked amazing, wet hair and all.

"There's more to him than what you saw yesterday. Sherlock is just…"

"Too brilliant for his own good." she finished for him. "He's bored with situations that would keep any normal man up all night. What is extravagant for most is so obvious to him. He lives in a different world, therefore doesn't find much amusement in this one. And that just might be why he is only content while in the middle of a case. Oh, to be that intelligent," she sighed, catching John off guard for a second time with her own superior intelligence. Stephanie momentarily glanced at the door, returned her stare to Watson, and concluded, "But Sherlock Holmes will not be truly happy until he learns the importance of proper relationships. Anyone would be lucky to have someone looking after them like my aunt and a friend like you, John."

"And lucky I am," Sherlock bellowed, walking into the room as if it were his own flat.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," greeted the little red head.

"John, you are needed upstairs," Sherlock announced.

"Upstairs? The only one that could need me upstairs is you and you're down here," John argued with every intention of staying.

"Well, I came down to ask you to come back up," answered the tall handsome man.

"Or perhaps you would like a cup of tea, Sherlock," the soft melodic voice offered with double intentions.

Sherlock froze at her comment, holding back every cross statement he wanted to unleash. With a single nod of his head, he declined.

"I'll be up in a bit," John assured.

"No, now," Holmes childishly demanded.

"Goodness, does he always order you around like that? It's horrible. If I were you, I would decline and see how he manages without you. He did it before and no doubt he could do it again," she stated fearlessly.

At this Sherlock couldn't resist. He reminded himself of the scream game, the one he wanted to win more than any game he had played in weeks.

"Now see here, Cassidy, John is a dear friend and most trusted colleague. Yes, I did cases before John but I much prefer having him with me than not. Two opinions are more acceptable to the police than mine alone."

"And is that because they don't trust you or do they simply find your arrogance a severe falt? Besides, I imagine John is your _only_ friend. No one else can probably tolerate you, much less work with you."

Apparently, MissThomas wanted to play the game as well. But she wouldn't win, of course. Sherlock had it all planned out in his mind and in the end there was no way little Cassidy could come out on top.

"John," Sherlock called, making his way out of the room. He stopped in the middle of the hallway and yelled to Stephanie, "Oh, and please tell your aunt it will be a late night and not to worry about dinner."

As soon as the men couldn't hear she whispered to herself, "He said please. I didn't know he was aware of the word." Amused at this, it being a word he clearly didn't use except when he absolutely had to, she couldn't help blushing and smiling, like a little fan-girl.

"What was that all about?" John asked his extremely rude friend. "I hadn't been down there but a few minutes. You said it was going to be a light day work-wise."

"Yes I did. And it kills me to know that you would have spent precious research time with Cassidy. Priorities man," Sherlock lectured.

"Her name is Stephanie, for the hundredth time. You just don't want me getting involved with her. That is all this amounts to."

"Oh, do be serious. I don't want the girl to consume your thoughts and every last bit of your spare time. A woman clouds the mind, John. It takes both of us to solve cases. I don't want to be solving them while you're texting little sentimental petty notes."

"I never text during a case, unless you tell me to. And maybe 'the girl' was right. You don't need me for every case. If I miss out on one it won't be the end for you. You, Sherlock, are more than capable of solving the one tonight completely on your own." John was getting fired up now. He was no prisoner to the great detective. He had his own life and he had never missed a case since the two of them had met.

"And what would you do with your free night? Would it be an expensive impressive night out or would it be a more cozy quiet night in? Would it be the finest restaurant in London or _cuddling_ on the couch watching a meaningless film?" Sherlock had a disgusted expression as he said cuddling, as if it was a curse word more than an act of intimacy.

"You like her. If you didn't none of this would matter to you."

Sherlock plopped down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. With his hands together resting under his pointed chin he hissed, "Think, John. The case. Where shall we start with this one?"

She heard them running down the stairs about an hour later, off to the big crime scene she suspected. Drawing had lost her attention quite some time ago and nothing remotely interesting was on the telly. She had recently changed her clothes out of boredom. Her aunt would be gone for another several hours and she had already gone through the flat in search of anything, twice. A delicious thought popped into her head but she immediately pushed it away.

"What to do?" she sighed, ignoring the growing urge. "Be reasonable, Steph," she pleaded with herself. After a pause and deep breath, she knew that if she didn't take this opportunity, she would always regret it. "So we're going detective chasing, are we? Alright, here we go!"

Stephanie leapt off the sofa and grabbed her coat and gloves. Tonight was going to be fun. Tonight she was going to watch Sherlock work his magic first hand. The only challenge would be staying out of sight while following and watching them.

"Let's see how good you really are… _Mr. Holmes_."


	3. Little Games

It was thrilling, following Holmes and Watson. Stephanie couldn't imagine feeling more adrenaline atop the EmpireStateBuilding in New York or the St. Louis arch. Hollywood's glittering streets of gold weren't half as interesting as this chance to watch the famous detective at work. No specialty or tourist attraction in America would satisfy this itch she had been dying to scratch since given the excuse to visit her aunt. She lied to Sherlock when she told him he had nothing to do with her being there; she was partly there to visit with her beloved aunt but his flat being a staircase away was simply perfect. In fact, if he had lived anywhere else, even a block away, she would not have bothered at all. But she was the one young woman with a legitimate excuse.

She stayed inside as they grabbed a Taxi and caught the next one that came by only seconds later. As casually as possible, she told the driver to follow the cab in front of them but not too closely. Watching the back of Sherlock's head of countless curls, she anticipated his backwards glance. It was assumed that he either hadn't noticed her grabbing the next cab, being so dedicated to the case, or he knew but didn't mind. Either way, Stephanie was beginning to like this game quite a bit. The two men began to shuffle around their cab so she told her cabby to let her off at the next corner; she could stay hidden and follow them from there. Pulling her hat large sun glasses from her coat pocket, she prepared herself for the most difficult part of her scheme.

The general idea was to follow without being caught, a game she played as a child with her father in the grocery store. If the observant Sherlock spotted her the moment their cab pulled away, that was the end of her fun. She quickly placed all of her hair atop her head before putting the hat on and hid a large portion of her face behind the glasses. A nervous sigh escaped her before paying the tired cabby- from the looks of him he was unhappily married with more than two children and a nasty drinking habit that kept him out late last night. The moment she was out of the car, she spotted a bench and ran towards it, taking extra care to walk in a slower pace in a different manner than usual- a trick she learned to help blend in.

After a quick glance around, yesterday's newspaper was laying on the bench just screaming to be used. Stephanie took her time in opening the folded pages and scammed through a dull article on some new community activity that was to start next month. Continuing to face forward, she turned her eyes over to Sherlock and John as their cab took off. John would give more readable body language clues as to which direction they were going in. Knowing that Sherlock was sure to be watching for her, she pulled the paper closer to her face. Imagining his gray eyes searching for her slightly raised her pulse and filled her cheeks with a pleasant heat. Giving them plenty of time to be on their way, she glanced up to see the direction they were going.

The paper was thrown down and she was finally in hidden pursuit of them. From the block that separated them, she saw John turn to Sherlock with a troubled expression. It was almost as if the two were fighting. For a second, she could help entertaining the thought of them fighting like an old married couple- it was an event that was sure to happen quite frequently at 221B Baker Street. They were probably mistaken for a couple more times than not. "Flat mates" was a common alibi for secret lovers these days.

The two comically argued all the way to a quaint art supply store. The store was far too small for her to get into without being noticed so she crossed the street and stepped into a busy bookstore. Staring out the window, she waited for them to come out. A sweet elderly employee asked if she needed assistance and she declined in a friendly tone, wanting to remain invisible. When she looked up, Sherlock and John were outside waiting for another cab.

"Goodness, you boys don't waste time do you?"

As on Baker Street, she ran outside to grab the next cab and kept her eye on Sherlock. If he was remotely as amazing as her aunt claimed, it was impossible for her to have gone unnoticed for this long. Outsmarting the clever gifted SherlockHolmes wasn't on her to-do list today but she would gladly accept the satisfaction. Using the same tactic as before, she told her cab to pull over about a block before Holmes'. This was getting more fun than she had anticipated. There was a feeling in her gut that said her luck was going to run out soon, and she was very surprised it hadn't done so already.

Patiently waiting for them to start walking, Stephanie found an information sign to pretend to read. It was the perfect distraction and quickly served its purpose. John was first to start walking, still clearly cross with Sherlock about something. She suddenly had a feeling that Sherlock was about to glance in her direction very soon; just in case her instincts were correct, she stood as tall as possible and began walking in the opposite direction using the unnatural walk.

When she felt it was safe, she continued following them and they wound up in an art gallery. Staying invisible would be easier here but there were still plenty of precautions to take into consideration. Waiting about a minute after they walked in, she found a bus group of tourists to hide in. Some were from America, others France, and the toddler of a Spanish family looked up at her and gave her a smile that revealed a missing tooth. It wasn't long before the group entered the hallway Sherlock and John were still quarrelling in with hushed voices. She stood in front of a painting but watched the two in her peripheral vision and tried to make out their conversation. Apparently, she was only a few seconds too late to catch any of the drama.

"Enough about that! Look closely and what do you see?" Sherlock's ability to shout in a whisper was amusing and brought a small uncontrollable smile to Stephanie's lips.

"I see a beautiful young woman," John replied after giving the painting a momentary glance.

"Dull. Look closer," Holmes ordered with squinted eyes.

"Fine, a beautiful young woman who has the potential to be…"

"This is exactly what I was talking about earlier. Now, if you will kindly look at the painting closer and do try your best to keep the case in mind," Holmes interrupted.

She suddenly knew what she wanted them to be fighting about but didn't want to get her hopes up. It was bold of her to even entertain the thought.

"The paint looks more recent than the others?" the doctor answered after a long pause.

"Wonderful, John. Yes, it is quite a bit more recent. If this is one of the copies we are looking for, and I think it very well may be, it is only five years old and five hundred years newer than the originals. The frame has clearly been tampered with to look aged and match the others. A modern canvas was used, a more expensive type of material than the ones we saw at the art supply store used specifically for making replicas of original pieces. This is also a different sort of paint than what was available- no difference in the color but a slight change in the texture due to the increased oil level, hardly noticeable. There is one more place we need to look."

Stephanie moved to another room and figured out where the other two would be going next. After sorting through the small amount of information given, it became difficult to narrow her search to only a few places. What was similar between the painting they had been studying and the mysterious "others"- clearly other paintings but were they categorizing them by artist, title, era, or something else? She figured it would be best to follow them and eaves drop on at least one more conversation before attempting to work one step ahead of them. Before it was too late, she pulled out her camera phone and zoomed as far as she could to read the title and artist of the picture they had been discussing- it was blurry but readable and that was all that mattered. The tourist group was leaving so she managed to put herself in the very center of the moving crowd.

She found a small hiding place across the lobby from the exit doors and waited for them. Once they were out, she gave them another minute to walk ahead of her. There were almost two blocks between them this time. Sherlock and John were walking at a much faster pace now. When they crossed the street and started walking towards a park, she realized where they were going. She knew this park very well from all the times her family picnicked here while visiting her aunt.

In the center of the park was another small art gallery. If she ran and took the shortcuts she could get there before Sherlock and John. There were many different gatherings in the large park today and that would increase her chances of going unnoticed. The two men couldn't be seen and were probably taking the paved trails and using signs to get there, this gave her a few more seconds to stay ahead. When she got to the help desk, she quietly asked if they had any pieces with the same title or artist as the piece from the previous gallery.

"There's one from that artist two halls to the right," the woman said with confidence.

"Wonderful, thank you," Stephanie whispered.

By the time she found the piece, she was nearly out of breath. Now, she simply had to wait. Fixing her bangs and smoothing the wrinkles from her coat, her heart pounded for reasons that didn't have to do with her little jog. She couldn't wait to see the look on Sherlock's face when he turned the corner to find her standing in front of the picture they were looking for. It was only a matter of a minute or two. Time seemed to crawl by and when she looked down at her watch two minutes had already passed.

"Where are you," she whispered, starting to get worried. Though she took the shortcut, there was no way they could be this far behind.

A few seconds later, the woman from the desk rounded the corner and startled the anxious Stephanie.

"Ma'am, there is a gentleman asking for you at the desk."

"Of course there is," she groaned under her breath.

"Excuse me, miss?" the lady asked, not catching her last statement.

"I said thank you."

The woman nodded with a confused smile and walked away.

Enough time was given for the woman to return back to her desk before Stephanie began her walk of defeat. She replayed her entire adventure and wondered exactly where she had miscalculated and was first discovered. To her knowledge, she hadn't been noticed. When she returned to the lobby, no one was there. Perhaps she had not been caught at all; she thought perhaps maybe an officer had spotted her running through the park and simply wanted to make sure that everything was alright. Yes, that seemed logical.

This was her only chance to get out of the small building unseen so she found the back exit and walked out with a satisfied smile. It had been a close call but she was still safe. As she quickly walked out of the building she thought of different places she could hide to watch for the nice doctor and the snobbish…

Someone grabbed her by the arm, pulled her to the side, and then she was shoved against the building. When her eyes met his, she grew livid.


	4. Taken

"Hello, Cassidy. And what are you doing here?"

"Must you continue calling me that? Your point has been made." It was becoming increasingly difficult to control her temper around him. Of all the ways he could have made his big entrance, this was one of the more violent.

"You've had your fun. Now go back to Baker Street," he ordered with pure amusement hidden behind indifference.

John found them and was out of breath. Stephanie found this ironic since John was the one of the two who should have been more athletic, being a military man and all. He was clearly out of shape.

"What are you doing?!" he shouted at Holmes. "You're going to hurt her!"

The kind doctor pulled Sherlock and the speechless Stephanie apart. Staring at Sherlock with disappointment and anger, John simply rolled his eyes instead of wasting words that would go ignored by the arrogant detective. He asked Stephanie if she was alright as Sherlock stood with his hands in his coat pockets, scowling with a million thoughts running through his head. The young woman assured the doctor that all was well.

"All is not well. You are to be watching the telly in your aunt's flat back at Baker Street, not following us on a dangerous case. You haven't the slightest idea who we are dealing with. Now allow me to get you a cab and leave this to the professionals."

"I thought you two were known as the 'amateurs'. Besides, you wanted me to tag along." She was staring him down, hoping she had pushed some sort of button that would drive him completely insane. She wanted to win their little game more than any other game she had played in her life- he was a refreshing challenge.

"How dare you think your presence is wanted!" His game face mirrored her own.

"Sherlock!" John interrupted, letting the mastermind know that he was being inappropriately rude.

"Of course my presence is wanted." Stephanie took a step towards Sherlock and suddenly changed her expression- it was the exact look he used while showing off. For a moment, they were almost nose to nose.

"You wouldn't dare, little Cassidy."

She started to circle him and began, "You didn't mind John coming down to see me this morning because it gave you the perfect excuse to come down and fetch him with the very intention of seeing me for a few minutes. The ridiculous amount of noise you made while coming down the stairs on your way out was painfully obvious- you wanted me to follow you. Your calling me _Cassidy_ all morning was just begging me to fight back and play your little game. You wanted to see just how sneaky I could be, so I didn't find it necessary to be any more clever than you expected… at first. Your continuously looking over your shoulder was sort of cute, wondering if I was still around. Was it a coincidence that I grabbed a cab immediately following your departure or was I simply going somewhere else at the exact moment? I've always been fond of hide and seek. I disappeared and then reappeared over and over all morning. So you allowed me to follow you until you arrived at a pivotal moment of the case, where you and John needed privacy. So here I am, Sherlock Holmes, at your silent command."

Stephanie stopped her circling and walked over to the spot she had been standing before. Her last phrase was uttered as she spun on her heels to face the man in the long coat. She couldn't help but smile at his reaction; it was precisely the one she wanted. Anyone who didn't know him would think he hadn't heard a single word she had just said. But that wasn't the case. He heard every last true statement and accusation.

John, still not used to Sherlock's analytical trick being performed on Sherlock himself, looked over to see his best friend's response. Was the young lady correct? Sherlock's blank expression answered John's question all too quickly.

"Well?" she asked, teasing him, daring him to say she was wrong.

"Wonderful," Sherlock sighed with sarcasm. But he wasn't looking towards Stephanie when he said it. His pale eyes were fixed directly in front of him towards the other side of the building.

When Stephanie and John looked to their right, they knew the situation was going to be a bit more difficult with the added unnecessary person involved.

"Are you glad you tagged along now?" Sherlock whispered just before meeting Stephanie's nervous stare. "You haven't been the only one following us, stupid girl. That is why I have been telling you to leave for the past several minutes. Now it's too late."

The criminal was approaching with an evil grin.

"You could have made more of an effort," she replied, realizing that her little revenge speech just cost her precious escape time.

"As if you would have listened," Sherlock hissed, more upset at the situation than at her. "I promise I will find you."

His last remark didn't make sense at first but she knew the possibilities that came with being a pretty friend of an enemy.

The man was obviously the villain linked with the paintings. But there were still so many details Stephanie didn't know, having only a small fraction of the case details was becoming more of a nuisance every passing moment.

Sherlock and Stephanie individually analyzed the criminal in silence. John made his way closer to Stephanie to protect her in any way necessary. When the four were finally standing closely together, the villain's attention was entirely on the young woman as he looked her up and down twice before widening his hideous attempt of a smile.

"She has nothing to do with this. Let her go and then we can settle this," Sherlock announced.

"Oh, I think she has quite a bit to do with this. I wasn't the only one chasing you chaps around today so she must be of some importance," he answered, his stare slowly moving from the woman to Sherlock.

"She really isn't," John nervously vouched.

"If she isn't of any importance than you chaps won't miss her," the man in all black yelled, pulling Stephanie close to him with a small pistol at her head. It happened all before John could even reach out for her- he was too slow and out of practice.

"Sherlock," John whispered, fearing for the girl's life with no decent plan coming to mind.

"Yes, I know," the composed genius replied in the same quiet manner.

"You know what I want. Meet my demands and you can pick her up later tonight at the old factory," he chuckled with his horrible breath- fags, booze, and some sort of cinnamon that was meant to cover the other foul scents.

She could feel it in his body language. He was about to turn around and vanish with her to God knows where. Just before he made that turn, time seemed to stop. With a pounding heart, her stare found the gray eyes intently fixed on her. Their eyes locked and he was collected but terrified, for her sake. It was at that moment everything changed. It had been fun and games until now. Who would have known that their little battle of wits would lead them here? Her body was being turned in slow motion as their stare continued to linger. The handsome long face draped with brown curls slightly nodded once to remind her that everything was going to be alright. After all, he had promised to come find her. And Sherlock Holmes very rarely found anything important enough to make any kind of promises. She gave him the same slight nod in acceptance as time returned to its true speed. The criminal took off with her and they disappeared seconds later.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sherlock closed his eyes and released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. That had never happened to him before and filled him with a certain new anxiety he couldn't explain. Several people had been kidnapped right in front of him before, even John. Why was this one different? He already knew the answer before asking himself the ridiculous question. But admitting and then accepting the answer was going to have to wait for later.

"You knew he was going to take her before he even saw her," John managed to get out. He was pale and confused. If Sherlock knew the brute was going to take the girl, why didn't he prevent it in some way?

"Of course he was going to take her. The opportunity was too perfect to pass. She's the beautiful mysterious woman that was found with us. Why would he not take her?"

"And you promised to find her ahead of time."

"Yes, John, that's what people do in situations like this. They make promises to ensure that everything will be alright," Holmes stated as if it was a simple fact. But John knew him too well for that; this was really bothering the man with the heart of stone.

"That's what normal people do. But not you."

Before a sentimental conversation could take place, Sherlock shook himself out of whatever secret thoughts had been racing through his head. He began to walk and John silently followed.

"Come on, John. Mrs. Hudson isn't going to like this. And if we hurry, she will never have to find out about it. For all she knows, Stephanie is with us on a case."

John immediately took note of his cruel friend using the young woman's correct name. Not only did he say her name correctly, but with a tone he had used for only one other woman. That little detail took this case from business to personal and Sherlock did not do well in personal matters. Whoever was to be blamed was going to pay a great deal more than they imagined. He only hoped that Stephanie was harmed as less as possible. If something happened to her, a small scar or slight bruise, it was certain that Sherlock would kill someone.


	5. Waiting

"Oh, we're going to be evicted," John whined, breaking Sherlock's concentration.

"We aren't going to be evicted. If Mrs. Hudson knows her niece even a little she'll know what happened. Or at least she'll believe us when we tell her.

"In a perfect world perhaps."

"Don't be dramatic, John. This situation has enough dramatics as it is. You know what type of criminal he is. He has plenty of resources and eyes around the city. We have to play this one very careful but it isn't as difficult as it seems. There has to be some fault or miscalculation in his plan. He hasn't been around for very long and I imagine he hasn't taken too many hostages in his short career."

"What if you can't keep your promise?" John suddenly demanded.

This sudden outburst grabbed Sherlock's full attention. Had John been paying any attention at all? He crossed the room and picked up his violin. The last time he had played it was when she was here, arguing with him about something that seemed so childish now.

"I hardly ever make promises and I never make a promise I cannot keep." He began to play a similar tune to the one he played the night Irene was found supposedly dead.

The two men kept to themselves for a while. Each stayed silent as Sherlock played and John tried to read. The sun was starting to go down and John was becoming extremely anxious. He wondered how Sherlock could be so calm. The brilliant man was obviously coming up with some kind of scheme that would begin in another few hours. But with each passing hour, John couldn't help but think of Stephanie. Was she alright? Were they torturing her? Had they done any kind of permanent damage? Before he could work himself up, Sherlock suddenly stopped playing and just stared out the window, gazing into the orange and golden sky.

"Are you alright?" John asked, rarely seeing this almost human expression on his mechanical best friend.

"There is something about her, isn't there? She's intelligent but also clever and charmingly witty. The woman has a matureness in her presence but a free, sweet young spirit about her. And that endless smile."

Sherlock's voice trailed off and that was when John became worried.

Mrs. Hudson burst through the door pale and in a panic. This was the very first time she had ever come in without knocking at least once. She couldn't find words for a moment. Looking from Sherlock to John, she was completely beside herself.

"Tell me she's with you. Tell me you know where she is!"

"Calm down, Mrs. Hudson. Have a seat," Sherlock said in a gentle manner that was extremely odd coming from him. He took the terrified land lady and placed her in his chair.

"Boys, please, tell me you know something. Anything!"

Sherlock looked at John in hopes that he had a sensitive answer for the dear sweet old woman. There was no easy way to tell her what had happened. And the messenger was going to be the one to take the beatings. When John shrugged and turned his gaze to the floor, Sherlock let out a heavy sigh.

"Mrs. Hudson, your niece followed us during one of our cases this morning and was taken as a hostage," he quickly blurted.

"Sherlock!" John yelled at his insensitive friend- just when he thought the machine might actually have some sort of feelings.

"What?! Oh my gracious. You're lying!" the woman shrieked.

"We're terribly sorry. She was following us and so was the criminal. It was all just bad luck and timing."

John's words didn't help as much as he wanted them to. began to cry and wipe her teary eyes. It was unthinkable. The girl had been eating breakfast at her table just hours ago. Now, she didn't even know if the sweet dear was alive. Something like this had been somewhat expected. Stephanie had always been one for danger and adventure.

Sherlock's gaze of stone changed into something John had imagined hundreds of times but never expected to witness first-hand. It was almost as if the machine was showing something other than indifference, maybe even emotion. Sentiment perhaps? The calm Sherlock took a short deep breath before silently leaving the room. The doctor figured he had been caught staring at an improper time. With a sigh of his own, John ran his hands through his hair and carefully gathered his words. sat sniffling in a stupor.

"He promised her that he would rescue her," he stated feeling sick to his stomach.

"He what?" She glanced over to the doctor in complete shock. "He never makes promises."

"That's what bothers me," John groaned, afraid of what surprises the next several hours held. "Do you remember the way he acted when Irene Adler supposedly passed away?" The shaky woman nodded. "It's sort of like that."

"I don't understand," she confessed.

He didn't want to say the words out loud, thinking them was bad enough. This had always been a ticking time-bomb, Watson just always thought it would happen under much different circumstances. This one had been special from the very start but never had he dreamt things would happen this quickly.

"Mrs. Hudson, something happened today more shocking than the kidnapping of your niece."

When she came to, she was sitting in a chair with her hands bound behind her. It was cold and dark, just like every kidnapping scene she had seen in films. But now she was the frightened hostage. Five different voices were heard from the next room. If she kept silent, maybe they wouldn't notice her being awake. This moment of privacy was the perfect moment to look around the room for anything that could be helpful later on.

There was a table across the small room to her right with a few pistols and cartridges lying out, maybe twenty feet away. An old bar stool was at her left about ten feet from her but it didn't look heavy enough to knock a large man unconscious if she were to hit him with it- maybe it could do enough damage to a knee or leg giving her just enough time to escape. Sawdust and metal shavings were all over the floor, from making and customizing their equipment no doubt. A small pile of aluminum cans and bottles were spotted in the far corner, mostly alcoholic beverages. This was all from a quick glance but before she could look closer, an evil chuckle echoed and bounced from one concrete wall to another. Chills ran down her spine.

"Good morning, love," grinned the kidnapper. "I was wondering if you were going to join us soon. Another hour or two and I was gonna smack that pretty little face awake."

Saying nothing, Stephanie reminded herself of the promise that had been made to her. Those words, especially coming from him, were going to be what she held onto for dear life. Replaying those last few seconds over and over was going to be what kept her strong. He was coming for her. She only had to hold on a little while longer. Losing hope or giving up were not options, no matter what they did or said. Survival mode had just started.

"You're an odd little thing. Most women carry around some form of identification, but not you." He waited for some sort of reply. All women hostages were easy to get information from so he figured this one would be the same. Her young mind would be effortless to pull from. The simple scare tactics would work nicely, or so he thought. Jumping forwards, only inches away from her face, he growled, "Who are you?!"

Stephanie continued her blank stare- men like this resembled dogs, they could smell fear. Her objective was to stay emotionless and as calm as possible despite what was going on around her. She used every meditation trick she had ever read about, quickly and silently testing each one.

"I said what is your name?!"

She didn't budge at his louder and angrier roar. He reminded her of the beast from the Disney film. His hand smacked across her face, leaving a stinging sensation she forced herself to ignore. Her pulse rose as he circled around her with a monstrous glare. When he made his way back in front of her, he stuck his rough scaly nose against hers.

"I'm not asking you again. That was only a warning. If I have to ask again, I'm pulling out my blade."

Trying to remain calm, the brave girl decided to have a bit of fun. "My name is Cassidy Colresh," she answered without a hint of emotion, grinning on the inside.

"And what were you doing following those two this morning?"

"I don't know them. I thought the shorter man was someone I knew from university. Then you showed up," she lied, only letting a fraction of her nerves show.

"Do you stalk everyone you think you recognize?" He was suspicious, possibly more intelligent than she was giving him credit for.

"Old ex," she shrugged.

"Alright, _Cassidy_, we'll take good care of you until the annoyance and the pest come to retrieve you," the ugly oaf muttered, hissing her false name. "And when I say we'll take good care of you, I mean you're tonight's entertainment."

She was suddenly more nervous than she could ever remembering being. Sherlock and John were on their way and were going to come through the door at any moment, or at least that's what she was going to keep telling herself until she heard that low thick voice.

The sun was setting and time was running out. Sherlock paced in front of the window with a thoughtful scowl as John sat on the sofa in anxious silence. had returned downstairs to gather herself after yelling at the boys for an entire thirty minutes. It was almost seven o'clock when the land lady came upstairs looking rather pale.

"Sherlock, someone dropped something off for you and he was a rather unpleasant looking fellow," the stressed woman announced.

Gently taking the letter from her, Sherlock was doing his best to be as caring as possible. John stood in suspense and waited for instructions. But the supposedly heartless detective just stared at the letter, even reading it more than once. He suddenly smiled and briefly closed his eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson, your niece is extremely clever and you should be very proud of her," he said while patting the confused worried woman.

"Sherlock, that might be the nicest thing I've ever heard you say."

"Yes, indeed," agreed John, even more shocked than .

"I say nice things… sometimes."

"Well, what did the letter say?" John impatiently asked.

"The clever girl gave them a clever false name," Sherlock grinned, almost adoringly. When the other two only gawked at him, he chuckled before reading:

** Sherlock Holmes,**

**We have Cassidy here and will not harm her unless you do not meet us as the factory before eight. She awaits your arrival quite bravely but we have ways of breaking those with strong spirits. Do not come and she we be at our disposal and of no more use to you. **

"Cassidy? She gave them _that_ name? She hates that name." John was completely puzzled.

"Yes, John, she hates that name. But that is the name that will protect her. She's alive because they had to question her to even get a name. If she is giving them any information at all, they will accept it as the truth. These are childish criminals, new to the world of crime. A true criminal would have been able to tell that she is clearly not a Cassidy at all. A true criminal would have brought us something more than a petty little letter with the girl's alleged name. Fret not! She will be home by ten o'clock and probably starving. Something with protein, Mrs. Hudson. John, come with me."


	6. Castle Towers and Dragons

The questions had seemed never ending and she only answered two questions truthfully- she was in fact only visiting London and she had been following the two men. Everything else had been simple lies that a child could have seen through. Some of her answers weren't even logical. If they didn't outnumber her, she knew escaping would be no trouble. But if she tried to sneak past the seven of them and was caught, they could kill her or worse.

The ugly one returned with his horrible grin and studied her from her small bare feet to her pretty eyes. She had never wanted to spit on someone so badly in her life, even if the result was a hammering smack to the cheek. He watched her thoughtful expressions and brought his face closer to hers until their noses almost touched.

Grabbing her chin with his large coarse hand, the ridiculous man whispered, "Those two have fifteen minutes to get here before I have my way with you."

A million replies danced on the tip of her tongue. But which would bring her the greatest pleasure and be the greatest insult to her captor?

Stephanie took a breath but was interrupted before the words were spoken.

"I really don't think that would be entirely proper, do you?"

The large criminal looked behind the girl to see a tall man lurking in the doorway. His gaze turned back to his prisoner for a few seconds before he called out to the rest of his gang. Stephanie tried to remain neutral to her savior's arrival, though her heart was pounding and unusual butterflies filled her stomach. For a moment, she felt like a princess locked up in a tower protected by a dragon being saved by the handsome prince- she had never understood those stories until now. All her prince had to do was slay these dragons.

The other six bullies emerged from the small room with all sorts of weapons. One of the enormous thugs made a comment about the tall man being outnumbered. The moment was becoming tense for the nervous hostage until a slight grin appeared on his calm face. Sherlock only nodded and a gunshot sounded from somewhere in the rafters. The gunshot made the large sized men cringe. Looking over her shoulder Stephanie wondered if they were truly the oversized armatures she had them pegged for from the very beginning- all tough guys that couldn't back up their big talk.

"Here's how everything will go, gentlemen," Sherlock announced calmly with his hands behind his back, hiding a gun no doubt. "My friend is going to come down and take the girl as London's finest officers escort you to brilliant little cars with shiny lights on top."

"We aren't going anywhere and neither is the girl," the leader growled, fearlessly pointing his gun towards Sherlock. The other brutes followed their leader's example, swinging and loading their own weapons to use on the cocky legend.

"You all are quite dull and this entire scheme was horribly planned. How long have you all been in business? Judging by your low quality outfits and weapons, I'm going to say this is your fourth or fifth job. Am I correct?"

"The next job will be cleaning up your scrawny little bones we tear apart limb by limb," the largest one of the group yelled from the back.

Sherlock couldn't help rolling his eyes at their talk.

"You all will really be doing yourselves a favor by simply walking outside and surrendering. Every criminal is ashamed to be in the same profession as you lot. A courtesy would be done to the criminal masterminds of London if you surrendered and spent a while in prison to form a more elaborate scheme."

He waited for a moment and gave the idiots time to be reasonable. When they did not budge, Sherlock snapped his fingers and a swarm of officers surrounded the group of ridiculous kidnappers.

"Lock this laughingstock gang up where they will not be able to further embarrass themselves," he ordered as handcuffs were pulled out and those who struggled were beaten or forced onto the ground. John's name was called and Watson suddenly appeared.

The calm doctor ran directly to Stephanie and released her from the tightly knotted bonds. Still a bit shaky, Stephanie stood up and threw her arms around John thanking him for coming to save her. Watson blushed as he embraced the brave beautiful girl.

When they parted he couldn't help but chuckle, "You told them your name was Cassidy?"

"Well, I had to have a little bit of fun with them. There were no computers around for them to look me up, none of them had smartphones, and I didn't have a single piece of identification on me," she grinned.

"Unbelievable."

They marveled at the silly situation and then walked through the maze of officers and cursing felons.

John and Stephanie made it to the nearest street when she glanced behind them and asked, "What about him?"

"Oh, Sherlock? He'll come at his own time. He won't be satisfied until he tells the detectives exactly what happened and what mistakes your new friends made. Their future plans will be painfully obvious and anyone involved in those plans will be behind bars before morning. That's what he does, what he lives for."

"And you just come along for the ride?"

"Well, I play a bigger part most times. From what he explained to me, these men hadn't a single idea what they were doing. Their size was the only thing in their favor to use against you."

"Yes, I was aware. That was the most irritating bit of all. Outsmarting them would have been effortless. But I didn't particularly feel like being torn to pieces or slapped around all night."

"Can't blame you."

"So was the case solved?"

"For the most part. The one behind all of this, the leader of this sorry mob, got away. That will kill Sherlock but the master criminal's disappearing act had nothing to do with you. The detectives from Scotland Yard will find him soon enough."

They shared a small grin and were both glad that it was all over. John hailed the next available cab and they made their way to Baker Street. The ride was silent, each in their separate thoughts. The good doctor paid the driver and walked the girl to her aunt's door. Without a word Stephanie gave him another hug.

"Thank you again, John."

"No problem at all. If there is anything else I can do for you, simply let me know," he added, trying not to blush.

"There is actually one thing." She was slightly embarrassed for even entertaining the thought, but she just wanted to know. "Was he worried about me?"

John's hopes and heart sank simultaneously. She had just given him two hugs since regaining her freedom but she still wanted to know about his best friend's reaction to the entire occurrence.

"Sherlock has very few feelings about anything or anyone. He is either bored from not having a case or entirely consumed in whatever case he is working on. There isn't much in-between the two." The next thing he had to say was hard for him to get out. "Tonight, he displayed more concern than usual and that was a rather large deal. He didn't say anything but to answer your question, yes; I think he was worried about you. Goodness, I was worried about you."

She softly giggled, amused by something. "The Scarecrow and the Tinman, the pair of you- one cares about everything and the other seemingly has no heart."

"Guess you could call us that," John smiled, rolling his eyes at her girlish analogy.

"It's not a bad thing to care, John. Having someone like you around, with your large heart, is exactly what he needs. He's lucky to have you," she stated in a sweet sentimental tone.

"I suppose. I feel like the lucky one. He keeps me around and I haven't the slightest idea why."

"It's your heart, John. You have a very special, loyal, caring, trustworthy heart."

"Well, thank you, Miss Thomas. Goodnight," he grinned. She had built him up and had given him some things to think about. He opened the door for her and nodded with one last farewell.

"Oh, John," she called before walking into her aunt's flat. He quickly turned on his heels to face her in response. "If you have a special someone, take her out tonight. A man like you deserves a nice date while Sherlock is on his own date with Scotland Yard."

John smiled and pondered on the idea for a moment. "You know, I think I will. You don't think it's too late to grab a bit of grub?"

"Nonsense, go have some fun and relax," she giggled as if his question were absurd. He gave her a nod of gratitude and walked back outside. Once at the street edge, he put his cell to his ear, said something in a lover's tone, and grabbed the next cab. It would only be a one night thing but he could use the company. Stephanie certainly needed some time to herself so, for tonight, plan B would have to do.

"Have a wonderful night, doctor," she whispered with a smile. The door handle was turned and her aunt screamed happily.

Their reunion was wonderful and her aunt seemed to be even more relieved than the girl who was kidnapped. A short version of the story was told over a nice warm meal and cup of tea. They talked a bit more and it was suddenly late.

"Well, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you are alright. I would have gone mad if something would have happened to you," the sweet older woman sighed.

"We don't have to tell my parents if you don't want to. I would rather them not know."

"I won't tell if you don't!"

"Deal!"

"Deal."

They hugged and kissed one another before the land lady was off to bed. Stephanie sat at the kitchen table with endless thoughts running around her head. It had been quite a day- much more entertaining than the trip with her parents would have been. When she heard someone come in, an hour had gone by since her aunt had gone to bed. Listening for the steps, she knew it was him. But he probably didn't want to see her. After all, he probably blamed her for missing the most important villain of the case.

She began to stare into her lukewarm tea and even thought about heating it up but a warm cup of tea didn't seem worth getting up for. She was just now getting comfortable and finally feeling relaxed. Still in her own thoughts, she remained sitting there and staring into her cup. Her phone suddenly buzzed with a text message, probably her mother telling her goodnight or something. When she opened the message, she couldn't control the buzzing sensation that suddenly filled her chest.

**Come up when convenient. –SH**

With a smile, Stephanie quietly tiptoed to her room and changed into something more attractive. She wasn't sure what would happen once she joined him upstairs but she certainly knew what she was hoping for. Silly predictions filled her head as she put on a slightly tight pair of skinny jeans and a navy blue tank top. A brush was quickly run through her thick hair and a bit of eye make-up was slapped on. He would notice everything but she didn't think he would be analyzing her in that particular way tonight. This would be their first time together since they locked eyes. He didn't even have the stomach to look at her all tied up and anxiously waiting to be liberated. And then there was what Watson had said- Sherlock had been nervous.

When she found herself presentable, she left her phone in her room and made the short trip up the steps. In a matter of seconds she was at the door of the great Sherlock Holmes, at his request.


	7. Unexpected

She walked in and he was fidgeting with his violin, not playing a single note but nervously tampering with it. He sat by the window with his back towards her. It looked as if he was in a silk house robe but she couldn't quite tell. John was still out on his date and would be back in a few hours but there was still plenty of time to visit with Sherlock. Just being in the room alone with him gave her an adrenaline rush even greater than being kidnapped. Stephanie took a silent deep breath as she closed the door after entering the room. She didn't know what to expect from this little meeting.

"What name did you give that comical lot?" he asked, not bothering to turn around.

"I called them the comical lot," she replied, wondering if she could make him laugh, smile, or show some sort of new emotion she hadn't seen him express yet.

"You know what I meant," he hissed, the light playing in his dark brown curls.

"You know what name I gave them. I believe they wrote you a letter."

"Yes they did, not a very professional one at that."

"Not surprised," she sighed, amused at the very thought of the ridiculous band of idiots.

"I don't suppose you were scared were you?" he asked, finally turning to face her.

He was in a navy house robe and matching silk pajama pants but he wasn't wearing a shirt. His pale skin and muscular chest caught her off guard and made it difficult not to react or stare- he would notice anything. The violin and bow were placed in their usual spot by the window as he waited for her answer.

Doing her best to stay unreadable and appear emotionless, the woman finally replied. "No. I was nervous a few times when he got in my face but I knew they were merely doing the dirty work of someone much higher on the food chain. It seemed as if they were just doing the job to prove their worth, which was nothing in the end. They were a bunch of overgrown children showing off for someone."

"I was hoping you would catch all of that," he almost smiled. "What name did you give them?"

"We've already been over this," she reminded him, trying not to sound flirty or ignorant.

"They only gave me a first name. Cassidy- that was quite clever of you. But what about the last name? I need to know if you gave them the name of someone who actually exists; if so, they need to be protected until the one behind all of this is found."

She didn't want to tell him and she knew she didn't have to. It should have been so obvious to him- such a fan-girl thing to do but it had been done anyways.

"You already know what I told them."

"I want to hear you say it," he tested, putting her in a most vulnerable situation.

"If you already know what I told them then you don't need to hear me say it. You should already have your satisfaction. Or are you ever pleased? Do people have to be utterly exposed before you are content?"

She had called him out on it, making her all the more irresistible. Her nearly naked chest and tight pants were giving him ideas he hadn't had since his college days. He had only come this close to acting on his emotions one other time and that was nothing compared to the effects she had on him. This young woman made Irene Adler seem like a little girl despite their age difference.

Slowly walking towards her, letting himself be pulled to her, he soothingly ordered, "Tell me."

"No."

Their eyes locked for a second time, much more intense than the first. He was only feet away from her, both hearts beginning to race. Her soft shining skin was driving him mad and she was feeling weaker at the knees with every step he took closer to her. Though he tried, he could not resist much longer and it was only a matter of time until he did something against his own steel will. The sensation was maddening, making him higher than cocaine and more focused than cigarettes. What was she doing to him? He was… feeling.

When they were toe to toe, he tilted his head down towards her without actually looking at her and repeated himself for the last time in her ear. "What last name did you give them, Steph?"

Steph. He had just called her Steph. Not only was that her correct name but the pet version, what her closest friends and family called her. If he was trying to hide his true thoughts of her, he was doing an incredibly poor job. She rose onto her tiptoes and leaned into him until her lips were at his ear.

"Jones," she whispered as sensual as possible- just to see if he would do as she hoped.

"Liar," he whispered in a low similar tone.

As soon as he said the word he put his large hands around her slender neck and suddenly claimed her mouth. The gesture was so unlike him but this was the way she made him feel. He wanted to play the role of the crazy lover with her. He wanted to show her a side of him no one else had ever seen. He wanted to be human just for her, with her. Keeping one hand at her neck, he moved the other down her lower back to pull her as close to him as possible.

Their bodies collided together as she grabbed his long brown curls and let out a soft moan. The kisses grew longer and more intense and neither expected the other to kiss so well, numbingly well. He couldn't resist her gently sucking on his bottom lip and she loved the way his tongue danced in her mouth. Minutes flew by until she pulled away to stare into his pale blue eyes, making sure that this was real. They shared a brief moment, simply staring at eachother with wonder and urgency filling both sets of glossy eyes. Sherlock quickly started to remove his robe as Stephanie caressed his neck with long kisses that went from just beneath his ear to his collar bone.

"Colersh," she whispered.

"What?" he asked, not catching what she said from the many new emotions and sensations flooding through his mind and body.

"Colersh," she giggled into his neck. "Your name backwards without the K and the S and H switched."

"Oh," he slightly chuckled with a full smile as he threw the house robe onto the floor- prediction correct.

"Mr. Holmes, are you actually smiling?" Steph teased, her hands moving to his naked chest.

"Me? Smile? Never!" he grinned, still staring down at her. His hips and torso began to sway against her.

Under her hand, she could feel his heart beating as fast as her own. Could he really be feeling all the same things she was? Was Sherlock Holmes truly capable of caring for someone, of falling in love? The thought of this being a cruel prank of some sort made her stomach ache. Her sudden stillness let him know something was going on in that pretty little head of hers. Instead of prying or saying something rude, he leaned in to kiss her neck while she thought- just as she had done too him. But she grabbed his face just before his lips found her skin and she forced his eyes to hers.

As if he was reading her thoughts, which he could by using her body language and facial expression, he asked, "Steph, how long has it been since you've really cared about someone?"

Not wanting to give him her brief dating history she simply answered, "It's been a few years." She paused. "How about you?"

"I was drawn to someone quite a while ago but it was never like this." He paused fighting with himself about being overly honest with her. She made him want to be different, more… personal. "I've never been in love, Stephanie. And you are the first girl that has ever made me have to worry about falling."

With a blush and a smile, she found it hard to look at him. He had just confessed something that she thought to mean a great deal. Sherlock Holmes had just told her that she was the first girl he ever thought about loving. With a new pulsing sensation that filled her entire body she pulled his face to hers and began kissing him again. She ran her hands up and down his pale chest- the girl was not making it easy for him to be a gentleman. Thoughts were filling his head that had never been there before. This was only their second night of knowing eachother. It was all happening so fast and he genuinely didn't want to hurt her. He couldn't hurt her without hating himself- another feeling he had never encountered. She was giving him all of these new emotions and urges that no one else had ever been able to make him feel before and that made him want her all the more.

Without thinking about it, he picked her up and carried her to his room without breaking a single kiss. Her small arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled at his hair the whole way down the hall. He closed the door behind him with his foot and gently put her on his bed. Those intent green eyes never left him for a moment. He knew that most men wanted to take an article of clothing off of the woman as soon as their own shirt was removed but he didn't want to be like everyone else that wasted their first time on a whirlwind night of temporary emotions.

He crawled onto the bed and gently kissed Stephanie, the most gentle kisses yet. They sat on his bed sharing light tender kisses until he slowly grabbed her hands. He had never held hands with anyone before, except for John when they were handcuffed together running around London but that was a bit different. All of a sudden, he realized why men and women held hands in the romantic way he had always ostracized. Feeling her small fingers entwine with his, he took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything. I don't want you to do this because of who I am or because of the way you feel this precise moment," he spoke softly.

"This isn't my first shag," she whispered confidently.

"But it's mine," he confessed.

Stephanie kept the volcanic gasp from coming out but her expression was more challenging to hide. She was completely surprised and took note not to tease or say anything cruel to him. Though she couldn't believe it, she understood some of it in its simplest form. He had never let anyone in his heart in a romantic way; that was completely obvious. She wondered if some foolish girl had broken his heart or if he had always been too busy with other things to occupy his thoughts. He was a complex creature and no one could deny that. But there was so much she wanted to ask and knew she couldn't.

After a few silent moments of deep thought and wrestling with her conscience, Steph kissed him softly once more. Their eyes met and she began, "I don't want to take that from you. At least not tonight. We've only just met and I really think we might have something here. I'm rarely drawn to anyone and I'm sure you are the same way. We are both terribly picky and extremely difficult in every way. But we are dreamers hidden underneath the most believable performances the world has ever seen. We each act so strong when in reality we are just as lonely as the next person, if not more so. The only difference between them and us is that we've almost tricked ourselves into not wanting anyone- entirely false contentment. We're good liars, Sherlock."

He stared at her and let her words soak in before he spoke. "Stephanie Thomas, you are the most extraordinary thing I have ever crossed paths with. You're only going to sleep in my bed tonight but our little journey is not over, not by a longshot. I want to see this through- be it a horrible mistake or the best thing that has ever happened to me."

They kissed and caressed for a while longer before she reminded him of his next big case. The sun would be peeking over the horizon soon and they both needed rest. Sherlock pulled her nearly naked body close to his and gently traced the outline of her torso and hips. She sleepily kissed his neck once more and dozed off in his embrace.

"I didn't believe genuine attraction between two people was possible. Thank you, my angel. Thank you for proving me wrong."

He grinned, gave her the slightest of squeezes, and then fell into the most pleasant sleep he had ever known. It was the first time he had ever held a woman much less in his bed. It was his first time sleeping with a woman in his arms. And he never wanted to let go.


	8. F-F-Feelings?

He was woken up the next morning by a sudden knock at his bedroom door. A nagging sensation filled him when he realized he had somehow overslept. Ever since he had become a consulting detective, Sherlock's mornings had started at exactly seven, eight when he'd gone more than a full forty-eight hours without rest. His heavy eyes opened to peek over a beautiful shoulder as John entered the room.

Immediately coming to some conclusions, John's eyes grew wide with disbelief. It wasn't every day, it wasn't any day, he found Sherlock in bed with a woman. And this wasn't just any woman but the very woman Holmes had sworn was no different from the rest. Their eyes met, John's questioning gaze meeting Sherlock's _what?_ face. He was acting as if there was nothing even slightly unusual about all this.

"I was just coming in to…"

"Shhhh!" Sherlock scolded, motioning for John to get out of the room holding his index finger out for John to give him a minute.

The shocked flat mate left the room blushing and Sherlock closed his eyes for another few seconds. This girl had completely changed his perfectly organized world of black and white. Being the girlfriend of Sherlock Holmes surly wasn't going to be easy since he had a great deal more enemies than friends. And her being so beautiful was only going to attract them to her and put her in more life threatening situations like the one she was in last night. There was certainly more reasons they shouldn't attempt the impossible than reasons they would work. No intelligent woman would want to be hunted down every day of her life looking around her shoulder every minute.

Hearing the door and Watson, the angel began to stir. She was still half asleep and more beautiful than anything Sherlock had ever set his eyes on. Her skin brushed against his as she turned her body to face him and placed her head against his chest. Sherlock had always heard of the "morning after" but never understood until now; though they hadn't gone very far, the emotions and tenderness was still there.

He kissed her forehead, caressed her shoulder, and whispered, "Stay in bed. It's still early. I'll see you later."

Those green eyes slid open long enough for her to give him a sleepy little grin. He got out of bed as she stole his pillow and the rest of the duvet. By the time he was dressed for the day, Stephanie had fallen back to sleep entirely content. Sherlock opened the door and closed it on his way out without a sound. He cursed himself while walking down the hall and knew that John would want to play fifty questions. This was going to turn into a disaster quite quickly, he just knew it. There had been good reasons for his avoiding the female species until now. Besides the normal stuff, feelings complicated the work and priorities of a famous detective.

John looked up from the morning paper as Sherlock walked in, more timid than John could remember seeing him. There were so many things waiting to be said but the question was who would speak first? Sherlock started pouring himself some tea and John turned the pages of his paper. The room was bursting with tension.

"Oh, go ahead. You may as well be asking them out loud," Sherlock sighed with a dramatized roll of his eyes.

"I'm quite sorry but… there's a woman in your bed. And not just any woman but the woman you claimed to have no interest in what-so-ever," John smiled, loving the fact that he had been right for a change.

"Yes, John. Stephanie Thomas is in my bed. It's not what it looked like."

"Oh, you sleeping until nine, both of you practically naked in your bed, and you being so modest about everything isn't what it looks like?" John was teasing more than persecuting but it was annoying all the same.

"No. We kissed a while then she spent the night, as in we only slept in my bed together."

"And you... cuddled," John pointed out, trying his best not to laugh- he knew that cuddling was a word Sherlock put in the same category as curse words. This was almost too good to be true. After all his speeches about how horrible displays of affection were, Sherlock Holmes had been caught _cuddling_ with a woman who had spent the night.

"I was holding her," Sherlock corrected his nosy flat mate who was clearly enjoying himself too much.

"So now what, you two are a couple?"

"There is a strong connection between us, we fancy eachother, and nothing has been decided."

"I see. So you're a couple," John grinned, glad to see his flat mate taking a chance on someone for what was the first time, as far as he knew. "How do you think Mrs. Hudson is going to take this?"

"I'm not sure. It is her business to some extent, it involving her visiting niece and all, but she isn't to know anything just yet. I need to talk to Steph about it first."

"Steph? You directly went from calling her Cassidy to Steph? My, you do fancy her."

"Is that a problem?" Sherlock replied while picking up a second paper with an irritated growl.

John knew that his teasing had probably been too harsh. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to get so carried away. It's just so good to see you happy and somewhat cheerful about something other than the misfortune of someone else. But if the two of you do plan to become official, you must know that your life will change- it is just a fact. You have just under two weeks and then you'll have to take on a long distance relationship with her. That means constant texting, nightly calls, and perhaps visits every now and then."

"Yes, I am well aware of all of that," Sherlock sighed at the thought of being given dating advice from fickle John of all people.

"This is a very personal thing, Sherlock, and I don't know if you're quite ready to jump into it head first."

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

"Not at all. As I said, I'm very pleased that this is happening to you. I just know that you are extremely dedicated to your work and being in a relationship will take up some of your time."

Sherlock didn't want to think about any of that right now. He was happy for the first time that he could remember and things would work themselves out in due time. It was going to take time and conversations but he wanted to take on this new challenge; he had been leery of the whole dating scene for long enough. Even if things didn't work out, it would be a good experience for him and prepare him for whatever feminine creature was to come next. If what everyone said was true, if everyone had one person they were truly meant to be with, it was possible he had one as well. But something deep inside of him, something he still mostly ignored, wanted it to be her. As these thoughts raced through his head in seconds he felt childish and found himself becoming a, dare he say it, dreamer.

"If she wouldn't have come into your life you would have been awake an hour ago and already researching or working on a case. I'm only trying to be of help and talk some sense into you, if that's what you need."

"This is the first time I've felt like this, John, and you are trying to rain on my life-changing little parade. Please drop the subject and grab your coat. As you said, we are running a bit behind schedule due to my recent discovery of a beating heart inside my chest. Odd as it sounds, I may be human yet." John smiled at this, thrilled that the machine had found some form of emotions buried beneath his icy demeanor. "Wait for me down stairs, I'll only be a moment."

As John left the flat, Sherlock went back into his room for one last kiss. It was strange to him how addictive kissing had become. It was more maddening than nicotine or the occasional bit of cocaine. It was more intoxicating than finding a new case. And it was more powerful than any feeling he had ever known. His horizon had been incredibly broadened in just two days.

The angel was facing the door with her eyes wide open and a sweet shy smile playing on her lips.

"You're leaving me already," she sighed with playful remorse. "Off to your next case, no doubt."

He placed his hand on her soft cheek and kissed her for the first time this morning. "London needs saving," he teased in that new tone he still wasn't accustomed to using; but he adored her reaction to it and liked the pridr it made him feel. "We obviously need to discuss some things and I would fancy a repeat of last night if you wouldn't mind."

"Yes, I agree entirely… on both accounts," she winked in a slightly seductive manner. "I would love to chase after you again today but I don't think my aunt could take another anxiety attack."

"It is probably best that you spend the day with her and not go outside until I return. We found you once and could do it again but I'd rather not have your life in jeopardy if it can be prevented. Besides, a repeat of last night would be impossible with you missing."

"Go save London and I'll get back downstairs. My aunt is probably already worried."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"I got up early this morning and took a walk."

"In the clothes you wore last night?" he challenged.

"No, in the pants I'm about to steal from my bag downstairs, going completely unnoticed while she watches her morning telly, and the shirt I'm about to steal from you."

She sat up in bed, removing the covers. There was a brief moment that Sherlock considered telling John to take the day off but he knew that this half naked beauty couldn't change his daily routine any further. Their eyes met with a similar intensity from the previous night. He imagined her in nothing but one of his sleep shirts and couldn't help grinning. Sherlock forced himself to leave the room without another intoxicating kiss from the redhead teasing him from his bed.

This had been a lovely morning and an even more delightful evening was ahead of him. He found it difficult to switch his focus from her to the case but willed himself to do so. Once he met John down the stairs, he was ready and his full attention was on the task ahead, or at least 99.9% of it.


	9. 20 Questions

Once Sherlock was on his way downstairs, Stephanie silently giggled like a school girl and fell back onto the mass of blankets and pillows. Just the thought of last night gave her chills. This was so new to her and she couldn't even imagine the changes going on inside her brilliant detective. Knowing her aunt was already worried about her absence she threw on her pants from last night, grabbed a faded green shirt from Sherlock's undershirt drawer, and ran into the living room to find her shoes. She quietly made her way downstairs and attempted to sneak into her aunt's flat unnoticed.

To her surprise, her aunt was sitting at the kitchen table with a man wearing a very expensive looking suit. They both turned in their seats towards her as she walked in. There hadn't been voices yet there they were, clearly having some sort of personal conversation. But who was he? The older gentleman looked almost familiar yet she knew she had never seen him in her life.

"Oh, Stephie, there you are. Where have you been all morning?" her aunt sighed with relief.

"I got up early and went for a walk," she lied.

"No, I believe you just came from upstairs, Miss Thomas," the stranger glared with a familiar unconcerned tone and an expression of stone.

"Mycroft! What an accusation. Stephanie had no business upstairs. It's far too late in the morning to be visiting John or Sherlock."

"If she had been walking around for any time at all she would be showing some sign of perspiration, heavily breathing, or reddening of the face. And I highly doubt she would have gone for a jog in that apparel, barefoot and in rather tight fitting jeans. That even looks like one of Sherlock's old shirts if I'm not mistake."

"Who are you?" Stephanie demanded, being analyzed too many times in the last two days.

"Someone who is looking out for the best interest of you and Mr. Holmes," he sneered as if her curiosity was petty and unnecessary.

"Mycroft, quit your being so mysterious and all. It's rather unbecoming," the nervous host begged, not knowing what to do with the present situation.

"No, auntie, it's alright," the girl stated, examining the man for a few seconds. "You're older than you look, work in parliament- judging by your _very_ posh suit- and have for quite some time. Your type of work involves being obeyed while mostly staying invisible. You only come out when you want the job done correctly the first time or if it is a personal matter, and this is a very personal manner. You have absolutely nothing to do with me so I assume you are here on behalf of Dr. Watson or Mr. Holmes- more likely Mr. Holmes since Watson is perfectly harmless. And you are far from a stranger to my aunt and came to confide in her about some matter that probably has nothing to do with you at all."

"Stephanie!" Mrs. Hudson cried out, unaware of her niece's gift. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Only the Holmes brothers had that talent, or so she had thought.

"Very good," the villainous looking man smiled. "Very good indeed for someone so young. You are well on your way to great things. I would evaluate you myself but I'll save your aunt the concern and you the humiliation. Shall we begin our little chat now? Please, pull up a seat."

Stephanie didn't know who this man was but she already didn't like him and the way he coldly smiled her with a most unpleasant concern.

"What's all of this about?" the old woman asked anticipating the worst. She had seen a great deal of things while being land lady to the great Sherlock Holmes but never did she expect her own family being drug into this world of mystery and criminals.

"Do you want to tell her or shall I?" Mycroft asked, still grinning in a way that made Stephanie wish Sherlock was there. But he wasn't and she knew she could manage this bully without him.

"I'd rather we go somewhere else and talk. I can fill my aunt in later," the young woman suggested with a stern agitated expression.

"Oh, what's the fun in that? And I think you'd be much safer indoors, considering your little adventure last night. Final chance, Miss Thomas." He was being cruel yet her aunt seemed so comfortable around him. Who was this monster? There was so much about him that seemed familiar yet…

"You're related to Sherlock, too young to be his uncle but perhaps a cousin or his… You're his brother aren't you?"

"Quite interesting. My little brother rarely plays well with those who give him a good challenge. I'd imagine the two of you are wonderful together. You've probably done nothing but tear eachother down since you've met. Well, up until last night of course."

"Last night? What is he talking about?" the confused Mrs. Hudson nervously asked.

"You're niece is…"

Stephanie interrupted him after a loud growl. "Something happened between Sherlock and I," she blurted. "We… fancy eachother."

"You and Sherlock? But Sherlock doesn't fancy anyone. The entire time I've known him the only person I've seen him with on a regular basis is John."

"Yes, and this all means I have lost a bet concerning those two. I suppose even a Holmes brother can be wrong every once in a great while," the elder brother sighed with false amusement.

"I only spent the night. We didn't shag or anything, I swear! That is all anyone needs to know. I'm a grown woman, he is a grown man and together we are making some decisions."

"Yes, well that grown man you're referring to is always under my watchful eye and I can tell you, as a fact, that you do not want to be involved with him, not in a _serious relationship_."

He said the words as if they were ridiculous. Was it so odd that someone would want to be with the extremely intelligent, handsome man in 221B?

"And what is so impossible about a relationship with your brother?"

"You were kidnapped because you were a female supposedly on his side. That's all it took. Imagine what his enemies would do to you if they thought the two of you… were an item."

"It appears my greatest enemy already knows," Sherlock groaned while standing in the door way, John close behind.

"Ah, here he is," the eldest Holmes smiled.

"Well, now that you've met Mycroft, you are more than welcome to scream at any moment."

She could tell that he was completely embarrassed but hiding it behind the blank expression shared by him and his older brother. They were a pair to watch, they had probably hated eachother their entire lives- far beyond the normal sibling rivalry. This was the one person Sherlock didn't want to know about last night, it was written all over his drained face, which was more pale than usual and genuinely displeased.

"You've concerned yourself in many of my affairs over the years but never did I imagine you would go low enough to slither your way into my personal relationships, again. You did this exact thing when John first came to Baker Street. Were you going to offer Stephanie money to spy on me as well? That would be perfect for you, wouldn't it? I might not have several friends or women that I fancy over others, but when I do have friends or attractions they are very loyal in a very short amount of time. Most people have the exact same friends their entire life and they aren't as loyal as the ones I find."

"My, my, a bit more touchy than usual, ay Sherlock?"

Mycroft was still enjoying himself far too much. The tension in the room was unavoidable and filled the small flat. The two brothers stared like two wild cats about to battle, John remained nervously silent, Stephanie didn't know what to expect, and Mrs. Hudson wanted nothing more to do with the siblings' drama.

"Everyone out! If there is going to be a domestic, take it upstairs to your own place." The four glanced at her before making their way out the door. "You stay here, missy! I need to have a little chat with you."

"Get in line," Steph whispered under her breath, upset that she was going to miss all the fun upstairs.

While the brothers and John were arguing, she would be getting another lecture about Sherlock. When she looked his direction, her heart felt like it was being pulled from her chest. Those pale eyes had already been on her with a sorrowful embarrassed sort of expression hidden behind the pride he was known for. Quickly pursing her lips into a kiss, Stephanie secretively blew the kiss in hopes that he would know that everything would be alright. He gave her another one of his understanding nods just before joining the others upstairs.

Once he was out of sight, Stephanie turned to her aunt looking a bit hurt.

"Thanks for taking my side," she sighed with sarcasm and disappointment.

"I'm in shock. What exactly happened, Steph? Yesterday the two of you couldn't stand eachother, that dreadful kidnapping incident happened, and then you disappeared late last night. You are in my care, young lady, and as your current guardian I have the right to know what is going on."

"I'm twenty-two years old! I came here to visit you and meet this detective that the media has been making a fuss over for the last several months. Perhaps I shouldn't have followed them but that's just who I am. We had several moments and have grown quite fond of eachother over the last several hours. We respect eachother as people of intelligence and feel a strong connection. I don't fall in love, you know that, and neither does he so this all has to mean something. We want to see where this road leads, as adults. Neither you nor his completely ridiculous brother can change what has been started. This isn't your choice any more than it _Mycroft's_."

Both women were upset for their own reasons. Mrs. Hudson knew the complicated life her niece would be entering into the moment she became the girlfriend of Sherlock Holmes. Stephanie, on the other hand, didn't see how this was anyone else's business; whatever danger that came with this new title was her own doing and she was more than prepared to accept the consequences. There was suddenly some shouting heard from upstairs. The girl sat down at the table feeling sicker than before. This had all been blown entirely out of proportion. And this was sure to be only the start. They hadn't even been an item for a few hours and there was already a petty riot.

"I'm only trying to look out for you, dear. I've known Sherlock since he was a boy and I don't want to see you get your heart broken all for nothing. It would be thrilling and all but it's just not worth the pain he would bring you."

"What is so dangerous about him? So I might get kidnapped from time to time- he will always be able to find me. He'll be busy most of the time but I could join him and John, maybe solve the cases quicker with three heads put together. He's not used to having emotions- neither am I. Sherlock and I are the same person. Can't you see that? We would be able to understand eachother, work together, be there for one another." She walked over to her aunt and gently grabbed the small sweet woman by the shoulders. Looking into her eyes, she whispered, "You were always the one to tell me to follow my heart. You used to say that I would end up with someone different, someone more like me. And I truly believe it's him. Maybe it won't be for forever but maybe I need him for now- see how things go. He could be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"You would be the best thing that's ever happened to him," sighed the elderly hopeless romantic. "You really fancy him enough to risk your life?"

"This is the first man I could actually imagine myself falling in love with. And you know what that means coming from me."

It was true. Her niece had never really been in love with someone. There had been one boy that deeply cared about her during her sophomore year of college but he turned out to be a rather repulsive bloke. "Two-faced" had been the word the teary eyed girl had used all those years ago. Trust didn't come easily to the red haired beauty and she hardly ever fantasized about anything romantic. She was an honor student with a 4.2 and loved solving any problem she could get her hands on. While Mrs. Hudson knew Stephanie was a very clever girl, she was only now beginning to understand the depth of her intelligence.


	10. Worth It?

Upstairs there was a more heated argument. Sherlock wanted this more than even he could believe. John was very hesitant about the entire situation, Sherlock's decision had the potential of changing everything they knew and putting them in more danger than they could handle. Two people could look after and protect one another but a team of three wouldn't be as manageable or convenient. And Mycroft Holmes saw the situation in a far different light.

"Jim Moriarty wanted you dead before there was a third party involved. He threatened the life of Dr. Watson without blinking. What do you suppose his men will do to the girl? There is no happy ending here, Sherlock. Surely you must see that. Caring complicates already difficult circumstances and love… Love will ruin someone in your position more thoroughly than you could possibly imagine. May I remind you of the Adler woman? " He leaned in towards his little brother with a demanding glare. "Let her go."

Mycroft's cold monotone advice was heard but not considered. Any time Sherlock had ever had the chance at something almost normal, his older brother made it top priority to ensure a challenge.

"Why are you still here, Mycroft? You've had your fun, caused havoc, and once again made yourself out to be a dull miserable suit worker with nothing better to do than cause me unnecessary amounts of grief."

Having heard the two siblings go on for almost thirty agonizing minutes, John spoke up. He didn't want to take sides but hated that time was being wasted on something that was ultimately Sherlock's decision, be it a good decision or a bad one.

"Alright, gentlemen, let's look at this as adults. You are both very familiar with deductions. Let's make a few, shall we? Sherlock, you know that you'll be putting her in danger and we'll be forced to go on more wild goose chases like last night. It will be a diversion from our cases. We'll have to solve the cases and save her while on a deadline." Sherlock stood silent but rolled his eyes, now upset with both his usually loyal best friend and dictator of a brother. "And Mycroft, surely you have something of more importance to be doing. It's wonderful that you are looking out for him but that's my job and I don't need any assistance concerning this particular matter. When I need help, you shall be my very first call."

The room was still for all of five seconds before the Holmes brothers started yelling at eachother, spouting analytical truths and sharp personal insults. John couldn't control them or stop the pointless argument. While he stood helplessly watching the two stubborn geniuses fight about love the door suddenly flew open.

"Suit, you need to leave, _now_. John, go downstairs for a bit. And you," she turned to Sherlock, "we need to chat."

"Children, that's all you are! You're all children who will fight for what you want at the moment, despite the obvious extremely negative outcome," Mycroft scorned. "You'll fight to keep peace, you'll fight for the mere idea of love, and you will always fight for yourself," he announced looking at John, Stephanie, and then Sherlock. After a look of pure disgust, the man vanished down the stairs.

"Sorry, mate," John sighed staring at Sherlock, giving Mycroft enough time to be outside. When Sherlock finally returned John's apologetic gaze they nodded in a silent agreement. John would go along with whatever his best friend chose, no matter how preposterous the outcome.

Once John was gone, Sherlock let out a large sigh, as if everything was suddenly taken care of. "And what do we need to c'hat' about?"

She knew that behind his indifferent mask the man was upset and embarrassed of his own human-like confusion. It was extremely rare for Sherlock not to know how he felt about something or not know what to want or do. It had to be difficult for him to feel so unusually lost and out of control. Sitting in his chair, where she sat the first time they met, Stephanie tried to rid herself of all emotion and look at this from a logical perspective- one that would probably sound like Mycroft.

"I'm sure the two of you loath eachother- too much alike I suppose. But he is trying to protect you," she began. Sherlock already didn't like where this was going so he started pacing the room and fidgeting with everything- fixing slightly tilted picture frames, returning stray books back to the bookcase, and such. "Come on, Sherlock. You must see where this all will lead. It's going to be difficult and hardly worth your time. Mycroft is testing you, giving you a small dose of what to expect from all this. He's trying to make a point- how can we handle this type of relationship when the very decision to be a couple has been this large of an ordeal? He created the drama this time but next time it will be an enemy of yours."

The look on his face let her know that she needed to conclude her speech. He had already been lectured once today and didn't need her to serve as an echo. "Your mind doesn't take feelings into consideration, you work with facts alone. Human emotion is so unpredictable and constantly changes. Besides, I'm guessing you don't like anything you can't be in control of. You can't control my emotions, darling, much less control your own."

He knew she was right, Mycroft was right. She would always be in danger and a large portion of his beloved case-time would be traded for saving her and spending time with her- even thinking of her would be a major hindrance to the life he lived before. But there was something inside of him that couldn't be pushed aside or ignored. He had never felt like this before and not having the ability to control it did bother him a great deal. This wasn't like Irene Adler; there were no separate motivations or double agendas. The two of them had simply met, were instantly attracted to one another, and expressed their silent adoration.

Gathering his words, Sherlock's heart was beating at a much faster pace than usual. He stood in front of her and confessed, "I've never been truly attracted to someone until now and I do find it extremely intimidating, perhaps the reason why I never bothered with feelings before. You're right, I can't control them and that does make a large difference." The next part was the hardest to say and he couldn't even find the will to be straight forward about it. "You are the most powerful drug I have ever known. I can't even think of you without wondering what you're doing or wanting to see you. It's maddening, really." He paused, removing his feelings from the equation as Stephanie had done. "It would be dangerous, yes; but we could take special precautions. Some of my time would be taken up; but I only have so much to offer you to begin with and it isn't a large sum. I'll be horrible at this whole _feelings_ thing since I have never paid them much attention. And you will have to be a large part of me without being part of my work, which will be the most difficult part for you. A third marvelous brain would certainly be useful on a case but one too many lives to be risked on a daily basis. And then there is your school and living situation; this would become a long distance affair and we both know the unfortunate statistics of those."

"So is it all worth it? Is this something you really, truly, honestly want enough to sacrifice the life you know?"

Sherlock knew the numbers that went along with the statistics and not a single one of them was in his favor. "Whirlwind romances, relationships in which one party has mysterious or dangerous work, long distance relationships, and unions where the two lovers are very much alike-specifically two high-functioning sociopaths- hardly ever work. Married couples hardly stay together anymore and we are only talking about a _relationship_." The word was still so foreign to him. There was a suspenseful pause until he concluded, "I want to do this. Despite the fact that this is sure to go wrong in some way, I want to do this. You know the risks and stats. If you are entirely sure that you're prepared for the worst…"

"I'm in," she stated with a serious expression that lingered almost too long before her next words. "I'm all yours, Sherlock Holmes. Come hell or high water, I'll be there." Her sudden smile made everything alright.

She got up from the chair and threw her arms around his neck. He began to hold her with a small smile forming on his lips. They both ignored the sick feeling in their stomachs and the many thoughts screaming at them. As of that moment, they were together.

Taking her small face between his hands the detective gave her a single passionate kiss before staring into her eyes. Never had he been so terrified. On the roof of St. Bart's hospital with Moriarty was a day in the park compared to what he was feeling with this woman in his arms- _his_ woman in his arms.

"It's only noon. I'm sure your present case is requiring your present attention," she smiled, wishing she could tag along to watch him in action.

"Yes, you are correct," he sighed, not wanting to leave those green eyes. "You tell your aunt, I'll tell John, and Mycroft will somehow find out by supper. Those are the only three people in the world that will know. We have to be careful about the media and their little games but we'll worry about that another time. Please stay inside and I'll be home later. Don't wait up, it could be a late night."

The pace in which he talked was slowing down around her- he was becoming more comfortable. There was a new tenderness in his eyes, one that no one else had ever seen before. In addition, he was becoming quite good at kissing. This was a Sherlock Holmes no one dared to dream existed. Of every girl in world, he was drawn to her, a fact that she still couldn't fully wrap her head around.

"See you later, then," she sighed as contently as possible.

He gave her a wink accompanied by his crooked grin and was off. She heard the front door slam only seconds later. Sherlock and John were on a wonderful adventure while she was left at home to explain everything to her aunt. There was no other way to go about it but honest and blunt. A fight was going to happen and she would end up in Sherlock's bed after the nasty exchange of words before the night was over. It was going to be a very long afternoon and an even longer night.


	11. Falling and Flying

Sherlock returned home about midnight and took extra precautions not to wake the girl he hoped was waiting for him in his bed. When he got into the room, the angel appeared to be sleeping soundly under his sheets. Her back was towards him but she was still beautiful laying there so peacefully. This was all so new to him that he questioned what the appropriate amount of clothing would be to crawl into bed with her. He was in sleep shorts last night but that was after a few hours of snogging. He finally decided that they were both adults and she was already asleep so he would be fine in just shorts again.

After quietly getting dressed in the dark he carefully slipped into bed with her. As gentle as possible, he wrapped his arm around her waist. Sherlock took one last breath before closing his eyes- another simple case solved in record time.

"Hello," the soft voice cooed from under his arm.

"You should have been asleep hours ago," he whispered into her ear. Stephanie turned to face him and gave him an almost sad forced grin. "Mrs. Hudson not take the news well?"

"Oh, she's torn about the whole thing. She's thrilled that we each found someone but worried that it happened to be eachother. She says we are too much alike and you're going to break my heart. She loves both of us very much, Sherlock, but there's so much she doesn't understand. We both felt something and that doesn't happen for either of us- ever. So shouldn't we act on these rare emotions?" Without answering her, because he honestly didn't know, he kissed her forehead. "Do you think we made the wrong decision?"

"I think we'll have to fight to keep what we've found, obviously. You'll be stolen from time to time, the media will eventually come around, we'll quickly find some of eachother's characteristics annoying, and our peers will always be quick to judge. We'll either become bored with this new life or we'll get along somehow."

"So romantic," she giggled sarcastically in a hushed volume.

"All facts, remember?" he teased in an almost playful tone.

"Here's a fact for you, Sherlock Holmes…" She paused to climb on top of him. "I missed you today."

While straddling him, the very seductive young thing floated down for a few kisses. Sherlock kept reminding himself to be a gentleman, no matter how much it challenged his new and demanding impulses. His hands wandered as the kisses grew deeper. It suddenly occurred to him how naked they were. She wasn't wearing any more than she had on the previous night- a thin tank top and panties. This made controlling his urges a bit more difficult.

"Bloody hell, woman. How am I supposed to sleep or even think rationally with you around?"

Without answering, she discovered a particular place on his neck that released a soft and sudden inhale next to her ear. His fingers dug into her hips as everything became blurry. Things were becoming quite heated quickly. Before they completely lost all control, Sherlock gently shoved her on the opposite side of the bed. Her breathing was deep and nearly exhausted as she rolled onto her back. Feeling the moisture on his skin, Sherlock couldn't believe how rapidly things had escaladed.

"You are just _fighting_ to steal my honor, aren't you?" he exhaled with a large pleasant smirk.

"Perhaps," she smiled still catching her breath.

Oh the things he wanted to do to her, if only he wasn't so keen on delaying the act for as long as possible. It was a biological fact that once someone took part in that sweet forbidden fruit, their body changed and craved it for the rest of all time. He already had enough cravings to fight on a day to day basis- nicotine, cursing idiots aloud in public, and the growing urge to mindlessly torture people like Anderson.

Once the two finally calmed down, they held eachother close and remained quiet. Just before they fell asleep, Stephanie remembered a couple from a movie telling eachother the _L word_. She didn't entirely love this man; therefore, she didn't find it appropriate to tell him otherwise. But she knew that it would only take a few more nights before he was her entire world. She couldn't tell him she loved him so she said what she thought to be the next best thing.

"I could fall in love with you, Sherlock," she whispered feeling his chest rise and fall against her back.

For a moment, she assumed he was already out. There was no answer for a while. Not minding his silence, she forced her mind to go blank to fall asleep. She couldn't see the taken speechless expression that filled his face at her sentimental words. His furrowed brow and feeling of panic was only momentary.

Just before she lost all consciousness, she heard, "As I could you."


	12. Tabloid

The next morning, Sherlock was back to his usual schedule-which now included sweet morning moments and a good bye kiss-and Steph would return to her aunt's flat as soon as the boys were gone just before her aunt was awake. Crawling into her aunt's guest bed, she felt nervous but unafraid. There was so much more to her than him and the same reversed. The past two days the two had been completely and blissfully distracted with eachother; now it was time for reality to settle in. But now that he was on a case, she was left to the prison disguised as a flat, doomed to daytime telly with her disapproving aunt.

After Sherlock left, she was getting dressed and just happened to notice a tabloid shoved under the bed.

SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS

"What have we here?" she asked picking it up.

Skimming through the article, Stephanie couldn't believe what she was seeing. Someone had mentioned Sherlock Holmes around her a few years back and she didn't think anything of the name until her aunt commented about his living in one of her flats. But that was only a month ago. Apparently, he faked his own death and disappeared for some time before returning back to his (what he considered) normal life at 221B Baker Street. Many questions filled her half-asleep brain. So now she was down stairs in a bed, much more uncomfortable that the one upstairs, with hopes of getting just another hour of rest before what was turning into an interesting day. It was too late to follow the boys but she could still be doing some personal research to pass the time. Getting all of the facts from Holmes' disappearance would pass the time and perhaps better explain the true nature of the man she was falling rather quickly for.

* * *

Hours later on the other side of town, Sherlock and John were just starting the first simple case they had encountered in a while, a case that didn't involve the still uncooperative Scotland Yard.

"Well, so far the case is going well," John contently sighed. There was no reply. Looking over at his thoughtful friend and flat mate, he decided to pry a bit. "Already having trouble with the new… with Stephanie?"

Not breaking his calm blank stare, Holmes replied in a low agitated voice, "I planted that horrid tabloid issue under the bed this morning for her to find."

There were a few seconds where John was too shocked to speak.

"Why on earth would you do that? That isn't exactly something you tell a woman the second day of the relationship." He paused nervously. "Oh, Sherlock, what have you done? You're going to ruin possibly the best thing that ever happened to you just for amusement's sake." The good doctor was almost mad now.

"It's for her sake. She needs to know exactly what she is getting into. It's one experience to be told a possible lie and another to question something without a second party. We talked about the risks again last night and we are going through with it. This is just the final warning, the last test of her determination."

"Determination? You do mean devotion? What if she doesn't find it?" John was hopeful that she hadn't found it yet knew the chances of the clever girl not noticing were slim to none.

"Oh, she's already found it. And if she's the type of girl I hope she is, she'll be quite busy today," he almost smiled.

"Busy, doing what?"

"Her research, of course," he practically glowed with delight.

"She isn't one of the bad guys, you know. You don't have to set her up or leave little trails for her to follow. Most couples… People who are seeing eachother usually just talk privately about these sorts of things, the things they don't really want eachother to know."

"No, she'll prefer it this way. It gives her something to do other than watch daytime telly with Mrs. Hudson and allows me to delay our first "heart to heart". What she finds depends on how thorough her research is. If she only looks for a small amount of information, she'll find an equally small amount."

"And if she spends all day putting together all of your dirty little secrets?"

"I've already given her the dirtiest little piece of my past. Let's see how many other pieces she puts together."

"I really don't think this is a good idea," John sighed. "This will backfire, you wait. That all was a while back and she doesn't need to know every detail of it."

The rest of the cab ride was silent. Once they arrived to their destination, the two friends' full attention was brought to the case.


	13. Tea Time Talk

In her hands was an interesting tabloid with her boyfriend's picture on the front cover with the most alarming of words nearby. Steph was sitting in one of her aunt's cozy chairs staring at the words more than the picture she had seen a hundred times before- the dreadful one with the unpleasant hat.

So he had faked his own death- but why? No one seemed to know anything helpful about the situation at the time of the published article, that much had been obvious to her even before reading the story. There were many pieces to this puzzle and she wanted them all before arranging them. The man she had been sharing a bed with had many secrets and a past she knew only bits of. Leaving this little puzzle for her was clearly his way of letting her know more about him, things that normal people were best left oblivious to. But he already knew her and, in knowing her, he knew that this was one secret she was better off discovering for herself- at least she hoped that was his intention. The only way she could become mad at him for this was if he was merely testing her intelligence by having her solve this case of personal importance.

"What do you have there, love?" Mrs. Hudson cheerfully asked bringing a full tea tray into the room for them to share.

Quickly rolling the tabloid up, picture on the inside, Steph dashed all thoughts of her new obsession away, just until her aunt was busy. The day was going to be interesting to say the very least. She was going to find out Sherlock Holmes' deepest darkest secret before setting eyes on him again tonight.

"You and Sherlock, I still just can't wrap my head around it." The sweet woman tried to smile as the words thoughtlessly spilled from her mouth. Her unusually attentive niece only grinned with a seemingly pleased expression. "He is a very lucky young man, though- you being so pretty, bright and all."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. We'll see who the lucky one is all in good time," she happily replied while shoving the tabloid under the cushion behind her back.

The tea was being poured so that meant the conversation would last until the caffeinated liquid was gone. The young woman wasn't particularly interested in girl talk, emotions, and such actions of sentiment- until just recently of course. Even the new bits of emotions felt were mostly towards Sherlock and they weren't emotions that could carry over to her aunt or anyone else. Her kindness and attempt of family love would continue but still her mind was bursting with questions she never imagined she would ever be asking herself.

"Has Mycroft given the two of you any more trouble?"

"He texted Sherlock a few times, nothing of great importance- final threats and such. I think he might be willing to accept the situation soon. He couldn't possibly do anything to actually cause a 'break up'. I think John called it a power complex."

"Yes, he does like to be in control of things. And he's very keen on knowing what Sherlock does," Mrs. Hudson admitted.

"Either that is part of his complex or he somehow feels that protectiveness is part of being the elder sibling. The two aren't very brotherly, except for the constant bickering, and they seem to make a game of annoying the other in any way possible. Our dear Mycroft isn't married, holds himself much higher than he should, yet does seem a bit more perturbed about his brother and I than he should. Usually men in such a position of government as he is in do not concern themselves with relationships that do not immediately concern them. Those types forsake their own relationships and pass them off as _distractions_. While he keeps constant watch over our favorite detective, it is still very doubtful that his motives are strictly for Sherlock's sake. There has to be some sort of…"

"Stephanie!" Mrs. Hudson gasped in shock.

The girl had forgotten that there was even someone else in the room. There were so many wonderful aspects of 221B Baker Street to be analyzed. Of all of the new mysteries, the brothers' relationship was by far the most interesting to her; not having siblings of her own, she figured that if there had been a sibling their relationship would be very similar- if not mirrored- by the Holmes brothers.


	14. A Promise

When he slid beneath her in the dark, he knew that she was still awake. Even wearing one of his oldest sleep shirts from his college days, he found her exquisite. Her eyes were peacefully closed. The familiar strands of soft red were scattered around the pillow and fell against her back. Each long breath sounded as if she were asleep but one small detail caught his attention. While one arm was beneath her pillow, as it normally did in her sleep, the other was holding a handful of his sheet- her thumb ever so slightly rubbing nearly unnoticeable circles. He had noticed her well hidden nervous habit of fidgeting long ago.

He wasn't certain of what to expect tonight.

What would this abnormal woman's reaction be to his dirty little scheme? Would anger reveal the typical female emotions she had so masterfully kept concealed? Would the very idea of his extraordinarily dark actions sway her opinions of him? Precisely how much had she put together since their tender moment many hours ago?

Instead of saying something, just for the sake of letting her know that he was aware of her being awake, he silently began playing with her hair. As if nothing had happened since that morning, the almost nervous man kissed his girlfriend's shoulder through the soft faded blue cotton fabric.

Soft eyes immediately fluttered open. For the very first time, she pulled away from his touch. It had been so long since he had felt true pain that it was startling. First, he felt his gentle expression change to hurt disbelief. By reflex, he gave the woman more space than he was comfortable with.- it was night and he needed to be tightly molded beside her. Then came silence. Sherlock Holmes was at a total loss for words.

Stephanie pulled the sheet up until only her head, red tangled mess and all, poked out. It was clear that this wasn't going to be one of their playful nights of angst. As if her bold silent demand for space wasn't enough, her serious contemplative eyes pushed the brilliant but fearful man into a sea of pure fear.

This was the first time losing her had crossed his mind. If his soul bled this way with her still next to him, he couldn't imagine what genuinely losing her would do to him. His beautiful treasure took a deep breath and released a thoughtful sigh.

"It's a wonder John isn't in a grave somewhere," she whispered matter-of-factly. "You undoubtedly almost killed him."

Sherlock was too ashamed to speak. Never did he predict her taking this particular course of action. It was as if they had been talking about the matter for the last several hours. But that wasn't his girl's style. Steph was starting in the middle of the conversation. There was no need for details, not the kind he was looking forward to sharing. It was suddenly clear to him. Her main concern was shocking and so pure that he felt unworthy in her presence. In this horrible unforeseen moment, he wasn't merely staring at a petty insecure school girl. Before him was a woman brave enough to call him out on his several offenses (before a word was spoken), confident enough to make him aware of her low tolerance for such deception (his actions from three years ago and his actions of today), and wonderful enough to be laying in his bed despite her disappointment.

His uncertain eyes had been locked on her questioning stare for minutes before she whispered, "You can never leave me the way you did John- at a moment's notice without proper explanation." He began to say that it was for the benefit of everyone involved but she stopped him after "benefit". "Whoever was threatening the ones you loved put you in a horrible situation. I understand that." She paused, an unreadable expression growing on her perfect face. "You knew exactly what you were doing when you sent John Watson off to do whatever diversion you created for him."

"How did you-"

"We're alike, remember?" she softly chuckled with the first hint of a smile briefly on her lips. Returning to her questionable stare, Stephanie deplorably continued, "You thought he wouldn't be able to process and act on what was going on." When he turned away from her she grabbed his arm. "Telling him something, anything, would have been far better than what you did to him. You're a clever man. You could have made up something. What was one more lie added to the details of that day you never told him?"

"What do you know of that day?" he hissed, now cursing himself for setting up this little puzzle.

"Everything you want me to." The reply was softly spoken but felt like a dagger to his chest. "This is what you wanted isn't it?" She was humble yet sarcastic. "I didn't work out everything, obviously, but I worked out enough. I worked everything out only as far as I could bear."

He could have further explained his undeniably selfish actions. He could have justified everything. He could have said that it was all for their safety- which it was. And the great Sherlock Holmes was expected to respond in the superior manner which was the only way he knew how to speak to others. But this woman, in just the few days she had been in his life, was already beginning to change him. None of the others would ever notice it, not for years. But she wasn't the others. She was Steph. And she deserved better, more, from him.

Every limb and nerve of his body was shaking as he quietly vowed, "I will never, under any circumstance… leave you." The difficult words were forced out of his mouth from his growing heart. "I will always be here until you wish me not to be. And even then you will still always be safe here. You will always be protected and cared for under this roof."

The room's atmosphere lightened as her blush was visible even in the dark. "I haven't even told you I love you yet and you're already planning for me to leave," she giggled.

His heart stopped at the very mention of the words.

"So you do? Lo-"

His foolish question was interrupted by an unexpected kiss on his cheek. "So that's a yes?" She didn't answer. "You'll be wanting more faked suicide details later, I presume?"

"All in time," she answered casually.

He couldn't resist.

"But you are in love with me?"

"Good night Mr. Holmes," she flirtatiously sang while rolling her back towards him.

Feeling as if he could take on the world, even more so than usual, he pulled her tightly against his chest. The two laid there contently for a few silent seconds and then her quick breath startled him.

"And if you even think about putting me through this sort of hellish rabbit trail again," she began crossly, "I will conceive a plan so wretched that it will keep you whimpering in bed for days."

He heard her warning and understood the unexplained meaning behind them. What remained of his shame was now slowly fading. It had seemed the proper, and amusing, thing to do. But he now regretted leaving her the nasty little puzzle of his recent past. He should have known better than to underestimate the beautiful and rare relationship they were diving into.

"In bed for days won't be so bad," he smiled against her neck, "as long as you're here with me."

All was forgiven and the rest were unspoken understandings. It wasn't until his lips sucked on the skin just below her ear that she couldn't ignore the aching she had been ignoring since he got home. She quickly rolled around before they lost themselves in eachother. It was another night of passion yet it was more. Each night they gave into their desires a bit more than the night before. Each night was another night they fell deeper into the other's world. The further they fell the better they understood and more they respected the other in a way that was entirely foreign to them only days ago. Long tender kisses ,wandering hands, and linked limbs brought them to that place they could no longer live without. When they found themselves torn between calling it a night and going through with the act, they decided to wait a bit longer.

Sex was a delicate matter between them. Though she found herself thinking about it more often than usual, she wasn't about to rush him into anything. She wanted it to be done when and as perfect as possible. There was a night coming, coming rather soon, where the moment would be undeniable and each would just know. On that night, there would be no asking permission or wondering if the time was right. On that night, there would just be love- the kind they were bottling up for as long as possible.

Dawn's first light made the window glow as they laid tangled and motionless- content. The chirping of a few early birds were heard from down the street. All was calm and peaceful. Sleep would soon take them despite their unwillingness for the night to end.

His heart was as the perfect rate for him to fall asleep. It was only a matter of time.

Blissfully wrapped in his arms, her head on his warm chest, Stephanie Thomas looked into her soulmate's eyes and gave a sleepy little grin. The adoring stare was enough to ask his silent question- what?

"I'm falling in love with you, Sherlock Holmes."

They each had time for one last smile before sleep claimed them in the most pleasant of ways.


	15. Breakfast Chat

Stephanie woke a few minutes earlier than usual and slid from her boyfriend's hold going unnoticed. He was sleeping like a small child with-what was that?-one side of his lip ever so slightly curled up in a grin. If she kissed him he would wake and ruin her simple surprise. Each stride to the silent kitchen was taken with a smile, butterflies still fluttering in her stomach from last night.

"Morning," John cheerfully greeted her from behind a morning paper as she walked through the livingroom.

After letting out a high pitched squeal of fright, she turned and breathlessly replied, "Oh, John. Didn't know you were awake."

"What?" he teasingly grinned. "Didn't hear the kettle on? Didn't notice the crunching of news paper?" The slightly confused Watson was far more curious than was proper but he couldn't resist. He usually did such a wonderful job in keeping his nose out of others' business but this time it was impossible. "Mind somewhere else this morning?" His tone would have sounded common to anyone else but Steph could see right through his overly friendly questions.

"Go on then," she smiled, playing his little game.

"Pardon?" he choked, now folding the unimportant paper.

The pretty girl in his roommate's satin blue robe began making three mugs of tea. He heard the pinging of a few pots and pans before she answered. A carefree Stephanie stuck her head out of the kitchen long enough to say two words.

"The tabloid?"

He had been caught. John nervously, and quickly, planned his next move. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that he was dealing with a female double of Sherlock and not just some young, bright, lovesick woman.

"What tabloid?"

She laughed while entering the room with John's mug in hand.

"The tabloid that you know good and well Sherlock hid under his bed for me to find." Pausing long enough for John to take an anxious sip of tea, the girl had to contain her building giggle. "The one you undoubtedly said was a bad idea, immoral even."

He had no other distractions to give him more time before speaking. Why hadn't he anticipated this reaction from her? Already, he had taken two sips of tea and had unfolded the newspaper. She was waiting for a reply of some sort.

Completely frazzled, he threw the paper onto his lap and asked with astonishment, "You're not upset?" Her stare of ignorance only further increased his curiosity. "He pulls a stunt like that, using a tabloid to tell you his darkest secret, and you have no reaction?" She only smiled and returned to the kitchen. He immediately followed her to the kitchen table, mug still in hand. "You're barmy," he laughed with incredulity.

"It isn't easy to compete with a certain someone but sometimes the unthinkable must be done," Steph explained in all seriousness while putting jam on three slices of toast. There was a long pause before she looked up at a speechless wide-eyed Watson. "I'm only kidding."

This was the comical sight Sherlock, dressed for the day and looking sharp, walked in on. He gave John a large amused grin while walking over to the domesticated beauty. The two were looking at eachother as if they had just slept together but John would have heard that on this quiet London morning. In amazement, he watched Sherlock hold Stephanie at her small waist and whisper something in her ear that made her blush. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a single kiss on his lips- as if nothing was wrong.

"Unbelievable," John muttered. The lovebirds looked over at him in unison. "The two of you aren't even fighting about this? You didn't do all your little research of his disappearing act?" he asked staring directly at the girl. His narrow eyes met Sherlock before asking, "And you didn't tell her anything?"

"A believable deduction, John," an unusually giddy Sherlock praised. His attention returned to the almost giggling redhead. "Have you been cruel this morning?" he asked with almost too much admiration in his voice.

"No more that what he's used to," she grinned, staring up into the eyes she quite fancied. "He's just not used to it coming from me." Their stare lasted only a second longer before she happily announced, "Alright, boys. Breakfast time."

Sherlock sat down at the table to eat, something John had only seen once or twice before.

"Joining us?" his flatmate asked from the table.

"You two are something else this morning," an irritated John sneered, his curiosity only growing.

Once everyone was seated around their plates of bacon, eggs, toast, and beans, Steph glanced over to Sherlock sighing, "I was waiting for you so we could explain it together. Didn't want to talk about it behind your back."

"Appreciated," the genius flatly thanked his girlfriend before taking a bite of egg, already gathering precise explanations. John hadn't even picked up his fork before Sherlock began, "What I did was wrong on a number of levels but done with the best intentions. The actual event was difficult for all parties involved but most difficult for you and I, John. And probably more depressing for you since you hadn't a clue of what was going on." His friend gave a pleading stare, begging Holmes not to remind him of those wretched years. "That is probably my most dirty little secret and I had to make sure that Miss Thomas wouldn't up and leave at the first sign of trouble- sorry dear." She silently nodded, having a good understanding of why he did what he did but still not fully understanding how he worked the nerve to do that to her.

"If this was the test I had to past to gain his full trust, then so be it. I was a bit hurt and expressed my disapproval to him last night. I know all I want to know about St. Bart's for now. Maybe I'll get the full story later, maybe there won't be a need to. But Sherlock and I process things like this on a level most others do not understand. They aren't supposed to and God help them if they did. It's twisted, I completely agree."

"But that's the way we are. And I'm never doing something like that to her again and…" The next bit was more difficult to say than he had anticipated. "And I'm never going to leave you like that again," he said to his best friend. "Either of you." His eyes quickly met his girlfriend's before returning to John. "I was wrong and, on the very rare occasion, I apologize."

"You already apologized when you came back. No use in doing it again," Watson forced a smile. This was the second explanation and apology for that hellish day.

"All explained?" Steph asked her noble friend.

"Yeah, all is explained," John replied. "But the two of you are just so bloody mad."

They all shared a laugh and finished breakfast. Nothing more was said about the unthinkable event. When it came time for Sherlock and John to leave, the girl gave her dear friend a particularly tight embrace. She then gave her Sherlock a particularly tender good-bye kiss, different from the quick ones usually shared before he left the flat. It was almost as if the kiss meant that they were putting the whole tabloid matter to rest.

Before she closed the door, she heard his voice call up the staircase, "And still be careful, Steph. You need to stay inside for a few more days."

Her blissful smile quickly faded. Yes, it was still dangerous for her to be out and about but she was also getting tired of being cooped up. She cleaned up the breakfast mess humming a song she had heard long ago. She had criticized the song after hearing it for the first time. Back then, love songs were a waste of radio waves. Alternative rock was greatly preferred over sappy songs of "love" that lasted all of a few weeks. Now, the lyrics and emotions behind then suddenly made sense.

"What are you doing to me, Holmes?" she happily sighed.

Steph slipped out of her new favorite robe, the soft material reminding her of his touch. After her shower, she got dressed and made her way downstairs. Mrs. Hudson opened her door quicker than expected.

"I was wondering if you would be visiting today," she teased.

"Yeah, Sherlock requested that I stay put for a few more days," the girl explained, trying to be cheerful despite her wanting to be out in the sun among London crowds.

"He can be rather protective, can't he?" There was an untold story dancing around in her aunt's eyes but Stephanie wasn't interested enough to ask.

"I fancy it though," she said almost absent mindedly. When her aunt gave her a questioning stare, the recently romantic niece confessed, "I fancy being looked after by him. I've never felt more safe or alive in my life."

"Don't know about the safe part," her aunt sighed, the tone of her voice turning from bubbly to nervous. "You've already been kidnapped once, my dear. Your relationship with Sherlock is only going to put you more in harm's way." The sweet old woman left to make them some tea. When she returned, she lightly chuckled, "If anything, you'd be safer back home. Here, you may as well be wearing a shirt that says 'Kidnap me, I'm Sherlock's'."

"Don't say that," Steph gently remarked.

The sudden uneasy twisting of her stomach began to make her doubt her own safety. Until now, she was aware of the dangers that had been pointed out time and time again. But the thought of being taken again hadn't been a rational possibility until now. And even if she would be taken, being away from Sherlock was more of a concern that what the criminals would actually do to her. Her parents had always warned her about London thugs but the comical lot she had previously encountered didn't do more than raise her pulse and adrenaline to an uncomfortable level.

The clever girl quickly changed the subject to her aunt's favorite morning show. Mrs. Hudson instantly became excitedly animated, sparing no details about her favorite couple's love affair. Steph listened as close as she could but the young beauty couldn't help feeling the need to make an escape plan- in the likely event that some foolish sod wanted to kidnap her again. Her plan was half formed when her aunt asked if everything was alright.

It was another long day full of telly and internet. She longed to be helping the boys with their latest crime. But she knew that distancing herself from their cases was best for everyone- even if she could help solve the cases quicker. Maybe he would let her tag along, or possibly need her equally brilliant skills in a pinch. Until then, she was left counting down the days until she had to return back home. For the first time since she had arrived, she glanced at a calendar. Her heart sank upon the realization that she only had nine days of holiday left.


	16. Chickfight

First, thanks to all readers for following this far! This piece had been my best work by far and all reviews/faves/follows mean so much! I'd love to hear from you guys! Thanks for reading! =)

* * *

It was a small case today. The boys got back around two then the three sat in the living room having the grandest of times. John told about their first case as Sherlock added his laughable commentary. The laughter soon died down. The world was at peace and highly amusing, for the moment. The second after the laughter faded, the door opened downstairs. Everyone ceased breathing to hear who the intruder could be.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

The cheerful bubbly voice called out in delight.

Immediately, John glanced over to his perturbed flatmate and whispered, "She's not going to like this."

Stephanie was suddenly very confused and entirely curious.

"It's none of her business," Sherlock replied with the identical tone John had used.

"How did she," the slow doctor began.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed between gritted teeth.

It was then that Stephanie realized her boyfriend had a specific facial expression while talking about his brother, and an unpleasant one at that. It was the same enraged look her mother used to wear when walking into the kitchen to find Stephanie among every last piece of her chemistry set sprawled on the counters, stove top, floor, and table- a scream usually followed.

"Sherlock?" An explanation was being sweetly demanded by the redhead, whose full temper was about to be introduced.

"You're sick- no fever but terrible headache and stomach cramps," he replied, forming an alibi for something that hadn't happened yet.

"Stomach cramps?" she echoed in a disgusted tone.

"This isn't good," John said to himself, finding a chair with the perfect view to watch the show.

"You aren't the overly jealous type are you?" Sherlock asked the fiery woman with blazing eyes.

"With you, yes," she groaned with a chilly edge in her tone.

Someone was coming up the steps in a rather quick pace. They were almost to the door. They were opening the door.

"Bloody… Hello, Molly!" Sherlock flipped his irritated mood to one unusually pleasant.

"Hello," the small frail girl blushed. Her attention turned to John, "Hello, John."

"Afternoon, Molly," John said a bit more nervous and more quiet than usual.

"Your brother said I needed to come over and see someone immediately," the plain woman, slightly older than Stephanie, explained to Sherlock with a pathetic heroic grin.

"Yes, this is…"

He didn't have time to answer before Stephanie had almost everything figured out. She didn't like what was going on and decided it wouldn't hurt anyone to have a bit of fun. Mycroft was still trying to smother their recently lit flame.

"I'm Stephanie, Mrs. Hudson's visiting niece," she moaned, acting as if her guts were seconds away from exploding.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, regretting what was to come. Things were bad and were only going to get worse, much worse. John sat in his chair in utter silence, waiting for things to get really heated. If tension had been smoke, they all would have been suffocating.

"Oh my, you don't sound so good. What's wrong," the suddenly concerned female doctor inquired.

"Well, I've been having these terrible stomach cramps," she began completely serious while Sherlock started pacing, unable to do anything. "And I've been very tired lately, all day every day," she continued, sending Sherlock into a panic.

The two men in the room glanced at eachother in fear.

"And I haven't had my…"

"She's much better than she was when Mycroft called. She just needs a bit of rest and some-" Sherlock had been trying to kill the situation before Steph made a real mess of things- but he was interrupted.

"I think I may have mono… or maybe be pregnant," Stephanie suddenly lit up, playing the hopefully expecting mother bit without flaw.

"Oh my heavens," John whispered as the dramatic climax built far more than ever intended.

"Stephanie, I forgot to tell you something earlier. May I have a word with you," the nervous genius hinted, unable to control his equally smart girlfriend.

"Yes, _Mr. Holmes_?" The woman didn't move a muscle, except to smile as if she had just called "check" in a game of chess.

"May I speak to you in private?" he asked, trying to keep every last ounce of composure he had left. She was challenging him like never before and at the most inopportune time.

"Excuse me Mrs…" She had done it on purpose. The other woman was clearly not married and was obviously saving her next big romance for the embarrassed and abnormally pale Sherlock.

"Molly Hooper, and I'm not married."

A large hand grabbed Stephanie's arm and drug her into the hall. As they disappeared, Molly didn't know what to think and John wasn't about to say a word until everything was over.

"Exactly what do you think you are doing?" Sherlock growled disapprovingly in a hushed manner.

"It's perfectly clear, isn't it?"

"Of course it is."

"Then let me finish running the little thing off. You obviously don't want her here."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. She'll be gone in three minutes." The female master of deduction started to walk back into the living room until her arm was grabbed again. "Oh, what now?" she whined.

"You can't behave like this to her," Sherlock said with a slight roll of his eyes, feeling a bit uneasy.

"Oh, you fancy her?" It was clear that he didn't but she had to say it just to make him all the more frustrated with her. They were playing the scream game again, but at a whole new level.

"No. I don't but she likes me a great deal and it's best I don't upset her," he explained against his will. Surly this sounded like something it wasn't. He was suddenly beginning his acquaintance with female jealousy.

"Oh, she likes you so keep her around, for what? Your ego?" The young woman exclaimed at a slightly louder volume than desired.

"Keep your voice down and listen to me, Stephanie," the blue eyes and troubled voice ordered.

"Fine," she answered, crossing her arms and looking anywhere but towards him.

"You remember my faked death? The supplies? The doctor?" He took her silence as a yes. "That was Molly." He watched her expression slightly change as she looked toward his speechless savior. "I literally owe her my life and will not allow anyone, even you, to be cruel to her. She has been my friend for many years and has stood by me even when I denied her of every last sliver of friendly sentiment she deserved. She and I are friends and you are not to lash out on her. The news is going to be very difficult for her so play nice from now on." Their eyes finally met. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gently vowed, "You have nothing to be jealous of."

She wasn't about to play the petty female and ask him to further promise or swear. Instead, she sighed and teased, "Then I can't tell her you're the father."

"Calm yourself, Cassidy," he almost grinned. "Claws contained, please."

Stephanie walked over to Molly with Sherlock close behind. John held his breath as the two women were within hitting distance; anything was expected.

Holding her hand out, Stephanie was suddenly on her best manners. "Stephanie Thomas. Sherlock has told me he owes you his life." Not knowing which direction the crazy stranger was taking the conversation, Molly hesitated to shake her hand. Once their hands touched, the younger proclaimed, "If he owes you his life, that I owe you mine as well. Thank you for what you did for him."

Still disoriented, Molly nervously asked, "What's going on? Does everyone else know something I don't, because that's how it feels. This all feels a bit set up."

Sherlock stood beside the two women and gently explained, "Molly, we've had an interesting few days at Baker Street and Mycroft cruelly used you to make one of his idiotic points. I'm very sorry, she didn't know."

"Who is she?" Molly asked with a painful fear in her eyes. As simple as she was, even she could see it. "Tell me the truth."

"She's my…" He hadn't actually said the words until now. "She's my girlfriend, Molly."

After the initial shock and speechlessness wore off enough to respond, the sweet Molly Hooper fought misty eyes to reply, "Oh." A heartbreaking pause. "She's your girlfriend," she attempted a happy giggle. "I see. And Mycroft just wanted to what- make this as painful for me as possible? You know how I've always felt." Her words were starting to quickly spill from her mouth without permission.

Before she grew too emotional, Sherlock further explained, "No, Mycroft doesn't want us together so he's made it his daily goal for diverse aspects of my life to backfire in the most negative ways, all due to this new relationship." The vacant look on her face made it clear that she wasn't following. "He tricked you into coming here so there would be problems between Stephanie and I knowing that I also wouldn't want to hurt you- one of my most true friends."

While his words were kinder than any other he had ever spoken to her-other than when he said he needed her at Bart's- it just wasn't enough.

"I'll get over you someday, just not today. And I'll need time," she forced a smile while looking into the changed grey eyes she was so used to. Turning her attention to the culprit of this extraordinary change, Molly gave a sorrowful grin to the evident keeper of Sherlock Holmes' heart. "You're very lucky, Miss Thomas. He's never romantically cared about a woman before."

The quiet leaking woman didn't say every word or phrase that was dancing on the tip of her tongue but Stephanie heard them all just as if they had been spoken. Be good to him. Don't break his heart. Every female that has ever wanted him for her own is bloody jealous of you so be thankful.

But none of these were as difficult to take note of as the loudest silent cry of them all. If he loves you so will I.


	17. Like Teenagers

After Molly left, Mrs. Hudson joined the three upstairs. A new string of stories and jokes were told. But she couldn't help noticing the constant proximity between her niece and Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson still wasn't used to the man without a heart kissing her only niece. Then again, she wasn't used to her niece showing anything above minimal emotions. The world was becoming a strange place indeed. John was rather amused by it all, Sherlock finally fancied someone. Mycroft despised the very idea and had expressed it in a variety of ways including several text messages and canceling a few of Sherlock rarely used accounts- just to remind his younger brother of his power to control other aspects of his life. As for the lovers, they found great amusement and delight in small ridiculous things that went unnoticed by most other couples- silent glances across the room, light dancing in the other's hair, and they took special note of eachother's new voice tones and body language.

Since her second night at 221B Baker Street, the young woman had been sleeping upstairs with the man she called her boyfriend. The day was coming to an end and the four of them-Sherlock, John, Steph, and Mrs. Hudson-had all been upstairs laughing about old times and chin wagging. When the clock read ten, the usually easy going land lady rose from John's chair and thanked the boys for the wonderful time. Then she gave a stern look towards her niece. The girl was staring adoringly at Sherlock, making the old woman worry.

"Alright, Steph, time to return downstairs," the unusually controlling aunt smiled.

"You go ahead," Stephanie replied still laughing, not wanting to leave. Why would she want to? She was sitting beside the most handsome genius man in the world with his arm around her- and he was even smiling tonight.

"No, come with me. You need to be sleeping downstairs, love. The boys have their routine and aren't accustomed to company." She wasn't being direct but she didn't like the idea of her beloved niece sleeping in the same bed as her new uncharacteristically lovesick renter.

"But I've been sleeping up here the last several nights," she argued, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"And whatever happens to you is on my head and conscious," her elder replied crossly.

"We haven't done anything you would disapprove of. I promise."

"They've behaved themselves. I can vouch for them," John piped in.

"Thank you John but I want my niece sleeping downstairs for the remainder of her holiday."

The girl glanced towards Sherlock hoping for a bit of assistance. Perhaps he could tell her aunt that her sleeping upstairs wouldn't bother them. Instead, the unhelpful bugger simply gave her a quick flirty wink. Her response was an immediate disapproving stare. When Sherlock didn't back her up, she tried the less respectful approach.

"I'm not a child, auntie. I'm an adult and wish to be treated as so." She wished she could take back the words the moment they flew through her mouth. Aunt Hudson didn't do well with backtalk.

"She really isn't a bother," John chimed in once more, seeing the other two's silent conversation.

"No, Mrs. Hudson is right." Sherlock announced to all. Looking into the fiery eyes he adored he added, "Besides, I can see her tomorrow."

No one else in the room noticed it but she did, and that was all that mattered. After the tall handsome man completed his last comment, there was a small trace of a smile playing in the corner of his perfect lips. Stephanie hoped she was reading his thoughts correctly. If so, her aunt was not going to be particularly happy in the morning.

"Fine," the girl replied in a sharp tone. But her eyes were full of happy mischief. "Goodnight, John," she sighed staring directly at her boyfriend.

"Goodnight!" answered the good doctor, feeling a bit sorry for the young woman. The two ladies disappeared and John glanced at Sherlock to see if he was disappointed. Strangely enough, he was grinning. "You aren't the slightest bit upset that she won't be with you tonight?"

"Oh, we'll be together. No question about that."

It had been about an hour since her aunt had gone to bed. She thought once the old sweet lady, with the best of intentions, was asleep her brilliant Sherlock would be down. That wasn't the way of it. For the last forty-five minutes, she had been staring at the wall waiting for the sound of creaking stairs. But nothing. Perhaps he had gotten busy with research or had fallen asleep at his computer. The possibilities were endless. Though she understood him better than anyone, there would always be a bit of mystery between them; but just enough to keep things droll.

"Waiting for someone?" the deep voice whispered from the doorway of her room.

"You took your time," she happily scolded.

"Cup of tea, Google, and some plotting," he explained.

"What was the plotting?"

"I didn't use the stairs."

She couldn't help a soft giggle. Moving as far over as possible on the twin sized bed, Steph finally felt as if she could sleep peacefully now. There were arms to hold her and soft breathing to lull her to sleep. Sherlock slid under the covers and immediately pulled her body close to his. Each released a content sigh once fully situated. Sleep was soon to come.

In the darkness, she felt his lips at her ear. Pulling away from him, her body and mind were suddenly at war. Urges had to be smothered for tonight.

"No, we can't," she announced.

"And why not?" His lips were at the back of her neck.

"Because my aunt is right across the hall and she won't think twice about throwing you out."

"Oh, she took her evening soother. A gunshot wouldn't wake her."

"Sherlock," she whined. "You're being difficult, dearest."

"Fine."

They held onto eachother for a few silent minutes before she whispered, "I'm glad you came down. Having you here is nice."

"Goodnight, Cassidy," the great Sherlock Holmes sighed with complete serenity.

Moments later, they were both asleep. Just before each lost the will to ponder, they couldn't help imagining the look on Mrs. Hudson's face in the morning. They were soon to be filled with indecent delight.

A single soft kiss was placed on his nose. A second on his forehead. Another just under his ear, making him slightly aware and almost conscious. The warm lips moved between his neck and shoulder, forcing him completely awake. With eyes still closed he simply waited for the last kiss which would be on the mouth. He had been completely still until the moment her lips touched his. Sherlock gently grabbed the back of her head and pulled it as close to his as possible, deepening what was meant to be a simple sweet morning kiss. When he claimed her mouth, Stephanie couldn't contain an almost silent sharp gasp. They had only been awake for a minute and already things were on the brink of getting out of hand.

Now laying on his chest, returning slow deep kisses, the hardly awake girl fought the strong urge to giggle. How could this be real? Never in her life had she imagined these sorts of emotions.

"Shhhh," the beautiful half naked man reminded her with a happily amused grin, staring into those ever sparkling eyes.

They paused for a moment, the land lady moving around in the next room.

"Now see what you've done," he teased, anticipating what was to come next.

"Well, it's your fault," she whispered with sass.

"My fault? How on earth is it _my_ fault?"

"You didn't have to turn my little kiss into morning passions," Steph flirtatiously smiled, still on his chest.

"How cruel should we be to her?" Sherlock was actually very playful, fully aware of the situation that was to arise any moment. "Any ideas?"

He was going to make this as awkward for her poor aunt as possible- payback for trying to steal his Stephanie from him last night. Mrs. Hudson loving him the way she did was to be his only salvation. His hands slid down the beautiful woman's sides, sending chills throughout her body, until they found her hips. He grabbed her firmly and was hovering over her in one swift silent movement. Suddenly finding herself on her back, the young woman breathed heavily in pleasant shock. She had just enough time to place a small hand on his neck before the door opened.

"Time to get up, Steph!" the woman sang cheerfully across the hall, getting closer to the door.

"This is horrible!" Stephanie whispered with a wicked mischievous grin, looking into the equally mischievous eyes of her smiling boyfriend.

The two lovers stared at eachother grinning like fools when suddenly, "SHERLOCK!"

The two immediately looked over at the stunned old woman in the doorway as if they were completely surprised at her being there- as if they hadn't planned the entire event.

In just minutes they found themselves fully clothed with messy hair and sitting on Mrs. Hudson's couch with a full seat cushion between them. The enraged woman paced in front of them gathering her words as the couple fought to keep straight and serious expressions. Focusing on the floor, they couldn't even look in the other's direction. Needless to say, the land lady did not appreciate or approve of their little prank.

"In all my years knowing both of you, I would never have dreamt I would be lecturing the pair of you, together, as if you were children. It's irresponsible and everyone is already going through great lengths to get used to the idea."

Interrupting her aunt, Stephanie asked, "But shouldn't we be the ones 'getting used to'? I mean, after all, we are the ones who are experiencing sudden dramatic life changes."

Sherlock had to close his eyes to contain a volcanic smile or chuckle. Keeping calm, he continued to appear neutral.

"Quiet Stephanie!" Mrs. Hudson snapped finding no humor in her niece's ill timed joke. "And Sherlock, I thought we agreed that she sleep down stairs last night."

"She did sleep down stairs last night, all of last night in fact," he replied factually with no humor in his voice whatsoever.

"You knew what I meant, young man! There was no need for you to be sneaking around at all hours of the night! The two of you are grown ups, adults!" Pointing at her nice she added, "And I can and will send you back home, missy. Don't you think for one moment I won't."

Stephanie appeared bored as her aunt gave the childish speech. "If, in fact, we are both adults, then what is the alarmingly devastating problem with our sleeping in the same bed?"

Amused at her gutsy question, Sherlock looked over at his fiery redhead in mock agreement.

"Stephanie Thomas, you know exactly what I meant. There is no need to explain everything in detail. After all, you two are the most intelligent people in the world." They each smiled at her, surprised at the timing of the compliment. "Or so you think!" Their smiles and pride quickly soured into annoyance.

"You're afraid we'll continue in the seemingly careless manner, get ourselves into trouble, and the entire situation will be blown completely out of proportion, unable to undo what has been done," Sherlock chimed in.

"Yes!"

"Wrong!"

Mrs. Hudson brought her hand up to her chest in shock of his boldness.

"This isn't what it seems to everyone. We are fully aware of what we are doing. While neither of us have been in this situation before, we are handling the present circumstances with maturity and being open to a part of life we each find new and exciting," Stephanie argued, the conversation growing dull and pointless.

"You'll be gone in a few more days. Is that new and exciting enough for you? Then what? You'll be back off to classes in August," she said turning from her niece to her renter. "And it'll go back to being just you, John, and your cases. You'll be miles apart and attempting a long distance relationship, which is hard enough for normal people."

"Normal people? Really auntie, I don't think…"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, young lady. This is the _fun_ part but when the both of you return to real life, what then?" The two on the couch were silent, insulted by their maturity and judgment being questioned. Sitting down on the coffee table just in front of the couch, the elder apologetically glanced into both sets of young eager eyes. "The two of you just met. Infatuation and chemistry are all well and fine but… is this really what you want, sneaking around and protecting eachother? Losing all hope for a normal life?"

After a brief pause, Sherlock reflected of all he knew from his own life and stared at the concerned dear old woman. "Neither of our lives were ever going to be 'normal' from the start. If we are each doomed to live unusual lives why not live them with someone who fully understands the complexity of the life we each live? Is it not better to share a load only known by few than take on the load alone?"

She was moved by his words, especially since they were towards the young lady she loved as her own daughter. With a sigh of surrender and compassion, Mrs. Hudson asked one last question. She already knew what the answer was but hearing the words would be the final confirmation needed to accept this most unexpected union.

"You really feel that way about my Steph? You need eachother this badly?"

Sherlock and Stephanie glanced at eachother for just a moment and she spoke for both of them, "I thought we'd been over this before. We've never felt this way before, ether of us. We didn't believe in anything like this and now that we've found the very thing we always knew to be false, we desperately want to see where it takes us. We understand and need eachother in a way no one else understands. We need to be together, for now at least. Perhaps it won't last but we are hoping for the best."

Mrs. Hudson nodded with misty eyes and looked to the man who didn't have the slightest trace of a heart until just days ago. He gave her a single nod in agreement to what had just been spoken.

"Goodness. This is a mess if I've ever seen one but I'm genuinely trying to be happy for the pair of you." They each smiled, the three of them. All was well and permission had been officially granted. "Just don't let me catch you…"

"Sorry about that," Stephanie blushed, not even able to imagine what they must have looked like when the sweet woman walked in. "Won't happen again," she paused, "as long as I'm allowed to sleep upstairs like the adult I am."

With a roll of her eyes, the aunt sighed, "I don't approve of it but you apparently know what you're doing."

Sherlock sprang to his feet and kissed his beloved land lady on the cheek. "You dear old thing, I knew you'd come around!"

Just as he released her, Stephanie came up to give loving hugs and kisses to who had always been her favorite family member.

"Oh, off with you! You have a case to be working on and you have things to do. Get some stuff done!"

She all but kicked Sherlock out of her flat and gave Stephanie only five minutes to say good-bye.

Half way up the stairs, Stephanie turned around to kiss the man following her. Since she was two stairs ahead of him, they were of equal height- a rare occurrence. Throwing her arms around him, she gave him a long deep kiss like the ones they had shared earlier in the morning. The consulting detective held her and was first to break the kiss.

"All is finally well with the only person whose opinion truly matters," he almost sang.

"And I'm so thankful she loves you as she does. She wouldn't be so concerned but she doesn't want to see either of us hurt," Steph explained.

"A bit obvious."

"It still needed to be said."

"Fine."

They had just began staring at eachother when they heard John opening the door of the flat.

"Again?" she grinned, wanting to perform the prank just once more.

The corners of Sherlock's lips rose with immense pleasure.

Five seconds later, John arrived at the staircase, caught the two in a very deep kiss, and whined, "You do know that seeing you as a pair already makes people uncomfortable, right? And that's without the passionate displays everywhere in this bloody building."

They could only chuckle as John marched back inside flat and slammed the door.


	18. Welcome to London

When she opened her eyes the next morning, she was surprised to find Sherlock sitting beside the bed with a breakfast tray placed on his nightstand. How long had he been staring at her, watching her sleep? She was a bit embarrassed at first but then took it as the sweetest of unspoken compliments.

"What's all this about?" she sweetly asked in a crackling morning voice.

"Just wanted to do something nice for you," he grinned.

"Being romantic and we aren't even naked?"

"It's an experiment," teased the beautiful man.

"Sentiment?"

"Something of the sort."

Stephanie moved over and patted his side of the bed, beckoning him to join her. He did as asked and sat on top of the covers. This was how he loved her- not quite awake and hair all a mess. Sherlock carefully moved the tray from the nightstand to her lap. It was a pretty sight. The food was all bachelor breakfast food, everything microwaved or toasted, but it was the thought that counted.

She took a bite of toast before asking, "So what happens on Saturdays?"

"Well," he began, placing a hand behind her neck and gently rubbing it. "This Saturday is a bit special."

"You have 'special' days? I didn't think the word was in your impeccable vocabulary," she giggled teasingly.

"This is the first Saturday of my life that I have a particular obligation," he confessed.

"Oh? And what is this obligation?"

"I have certain gentlemanly duties today."

"I see," she laughed, scrapping jam off her toast to lick it from her finger. "And what do these duties entail?"

"Anything you want!" he proudly proclaimed. "Money and time is of no concern- though I do need to be back by this time tomorrow. You've been cooped up all week and I'm sure your gasping for some fresh air and exercise."

"You have no idea," she sighed, feeling like a bird about to be released from its cage. "So where shall we go?"

"Your choice."

"Well," she pondered for a moment. "Would a day of tourist attractions be too much to ask?"

At first he rolled his eyes. But then he remembered that London was still new to her. He knew every backstreet and alley of this city and she only visited once a decade or so ago. Even clever children couldn't process London in a short few days.

"For you," he paused for affect. "Of course."

She nearly sent the tray's contents to the floor with delight. The excited beauty threw her arms around the man who was wrapped around her finger. For the next several minutes, she listed a number of places they could go and took a bite between ideas. She grew silent after noticing his misty eyed stare. This was a rare expression on him and it almost worried her.

"What is it? You're thinking about something," she asked while putting the empty tray at the foot of the bed.

"Just remembering," he sighed in a way she had never heard him do so before.

"Tell me." The girl rested her head on his shoulder and took his hand.

"It's nothing." Sherlock glanced down at his watch just to be doing something, to fidget. The moment he saw her large pleading curious eyes, he knew he had to share. "I don't have many good memories about my parents. Mycroft and I probably ruined any chance of a happy marriage they had. But I remember one Saturday perfectly clear. Mycroft had just moved out the week before so my parents didn't have to worry about us bickering all day. Father made her breakfast that morning and brought her a tray with a red rose. The gesture was mesmerizing to me. He didn't usually do things like that so when he did, I noticed every last detail. I followed him to their bedroom door, sneaking around so they didn't see me. He kissed her awake and handed her the tray. Father usually had work on Saturdays but that day the two of them left around noon and didn't return until about two the next morning. I waited up from sheer curiosity. They made love that night and I never understood that day until this morning."

Steph kissed his hand and then traced his face with her free digits.

"That was beautiful."

"Sentiment doesn't suit me," he admitted with a slight blush.

"Let's go, Mr. Holmes," she said with an adoring smirk. "The day is ours."

They snuck off without telling John or Mrs. Hudson. He showed her museums, they went to parks, she did a small amount of shopping, and they got to know more about eachother. Today seemed the appropriate day to do so. But every once and a while, one would catch the other staring elsewhere. Since the relationship business was so new to both of them, neither made a fuss over the few moments of diverted attention.

Sherlock took her to his parents' favorite date restaurant- the one he always imagined them going on that Saturday. It was a dim atmosphere and the table had a single lit candle. The flame flickered and danced through their wine glasses. At one point, they even found eachother holding hands over the table- a foolish action neither ever imagined themselves doing. It was one more action on their growing list of romantic firsts.

When the sun began to set, both felt satisfied with the day. He hailed a taxi and they both climbed in with the most pleasant of expressions. When the cab started, she crossed her legs before grabbing his arm and leaning in extremely close to him. His eyes turned to her without moving his head the least bit. Suddenly, a quick pulsing sensation grew in his ears and it became harder to breath. Surly she wasn't doing what he thought she was- a little drunk perhaps.

His prediction was correct as she whispered directly into his ear, "Have you ever done anything in the backseat of a cab before, Mr. Holmes?"

Words were almost impossible to form but he managed a quick and uncomfortable, "I've hardly felt the urge to do anything of the sort."

She moved a bit closer and gently ran her tongue just below his jawline. Calm pale eyes slammed shut as he tried to remain still. His composure was kept until she sharply drew a deep breath, making the wet skin tickle. The urges he had just mentioned were suddenly heightened. Every muscle in his body tightened as he opened his eyes to look at her with an undeniably shocked expression on his face.

Before he could utter a word or even look into her eyes, she pressed her mouth to his and grabbed onto the back of his head, gently pulling at the long curls draping over his neck. It wasn't a long kiss but it was passionate and certainly sent his head spinning. He kissed her back suddenly enjoying this public display of affection. While this had always been frowned upon by brilliant intellectuals, himself included, he was beginning to understand why couples did it. Not only was there a sense of rebellion and not caring what those around thought-a feeling he loved dearly-but her boldness in letting him know that she wanted him gave him a completely different thrill all together.

She skillfully moved her crossed leg over until it rested across his lap, her body suddenly twisted in his arms. Sherlock released one almost inaudible moan of pleasure and then she ended the kiss. Stephanie gave his bottom lip a small tug before leaving him unsatisfied. Her leg returned to its former position crossed over her other thigh and she sat up straight with a playful smile. Those bright eyes fell forward and her expression looked as if nothing had just happened.

It took a while for Sherlock to silently catch his breath. Once he could speak, he looked over to her and opened his mouth, some sarcastic or witty comment she guessed.

"Here," the blushing young cabby announced.

Sherlock turned his gaze from her only until he paid the cabby and got out of the cab. Steph stepped out in casual movements, still as if nothing out of the usual had just taken place. The door closed and the car drove away when the two made their way to the front door of 221B Baker Street. He walked backwards, staring at her while still in shock, and she pushed him aside to unlock the door.

Once she opened the door and took a single step inside, Sherlock grabbed her by the waste and spun her around saying, "I need you upstairs."

She finally smiled just before he picked her up and carried her upstairs. They stared at eachother with building anticipation until he opened the door to their flat. The moment the door was cracked, the two lovers began deep short urgent kisses. Sherlock kicked the door shut while glancing over at the hall, to make sure he didn't bump into anything on the way to his bedroom.

A loud cough came from the living room desk as the two both stopped to look up.

"Afternoon," a red faced John nervously greeted.

"John!" Stephanie gasped as Sherlock placed her onto the ground quite embarrassed. She caught her balance and stood a step away from her slightly embarrassed boyfriend.

"Yes, hello," the almost laughing roommate giggled.

"I thought you were out today, meeting an old friend," Sherlock stated, trying to sound as normal as possible while pulling on his suit.

"That was this morning," John replied, trying to hide a smile.

"I better check on my aunt," Steph declared with a disappointed grin.

Sherlock reached for her hand with a pleading look in his eyes. Even if they couldn't run off to his room he still wanted her around to brighten up the usually dreary flat. She just lit up the room wherever she went and it distracted him when he knew she was downstairs, so close yet so far away from him.

"I'll see you later I'm sure," she winked, obviously not wanting to leave. The young woman turned to John with a friendly smile and said, "See you later!"

After one last glance at Sherlock, she was nothing but fading footsteps on the staircase. Each man took a deep breath and the room fell quiet for a while. Sherlock found his violin and nervously cleaned it while John tapped on the keyboard of his laptop. When the silence became unbearable, John let out a small chuckle.

"That looks like it's going well." He smiled at his friend waiting for a response that didn't come. "The two of you make a lovely couple, Sherlock. She's perfect for you."

The genius stared outside thoughtfully for a while before admitting, "I just don't want to break her heart."

"Then don't," John instantly replied, as if it was as obvious and simple as that.

"I just can't help feeling that something is going to happen. Something very large and complex," he continued softly as if it was a fact.

"Everyone feels like that the first few weeks of a relationship," the friend tried being optimistic.

A troubled look suddenly filled Sherlock's face as he frowned, "I didn't mean with us directly. We were being followed all day."

John's expression went from his usual carefree grin to a pale questioning stare.

"Is it him?" he asked, dreading what was possibly to come- for a second time.

"I don't know," Sherlock sighed, having said the despised phrase rarely uttered from his lips.


	19. A Quiet Morning

These new emotions were extremely foreign, sometimes a bit uncomfortable. How had he kept himself from this for so long? It wasn't as if he wanted to join the feeling population. Actually, his theories and rationalizations concerning emotions were all still the same. The only difference was his inability to completely detach himself as he had done the majority of his life. But that was before her.

_You're changing me and I can't even control it_, he thought while staring at her back hidden behind a mass of curls.

Even if he couldn't see her face, he knew what she looked like when she slept. Peaceful. Angelic- and he didn't even believe in angels. Not until earlier this week. Sherlock ran his thumb in one small line over her bare shoulder- so light she didn't feel it. He didn't dare kiss her as he wanted to in fear of waking her.

The clock read 6:59. He turned the alarm off so she could continue sleeping. With a silent groan, the strangely content detective slid out of bed and began his day. Then he heard it. Late in the night he had heard Stephanie make a similar noise but now it was worse, deeper. Having slept at her side for the last week, Sherlock had memorized all of her sleeping sounds- another unexpected aspect of being in a relationship. The girl wheezed a bit and nearly woke herself up trying to get in a good breath. He took his clothes into the bathroom and changed there, a first.

John was still asleep and Mrs. Hudson couldn't be heard making her early tea downstairs. This was the first morning in some time that Sherlock was the only one awake at 221B. It was nice, silence. On rare mornings like this, he usually began searching for his next case or getting an early start to finish one in progress. But not this particular morning.

He shuddered at the realization of how sentimental he was becoming. It was quite disgusting. Looking out the window, early rising Londoners were making their way to underground stations, hailing cabs, and beginning their walks to work. With all that had happened in the last several days, Sherlock found it a good opportunity to take advantage of the alone time.

Down Baker Street and to the right he walked, noticing several details of the persons he silently passed: a middle-aged male smoker who was having his first cigarette after going cold turkey Tuesday of last week, a young girl studying for a history exam whose notes were incorrect on several accounts, the single mother who was spending the first of her won lottery money at the grocery mart, and then him. All these people out early of a morning going on with their simple mundane lives. And then the high-functioning-sociopath who had recently discovered a beating heart inside his icy cave of a chest.

These morning walks used to happen once a week. That was before John Watson burst into his life. Walks, like the one he was on right now, kept his ears open, eyes sharp, and skills of deduction at their height. Some mornings were more interesting than others and very rarely did anyone stop to chat with him. But he could feel the subtle changes inside his mind like sprouting seeds of the humanity he'd been lacking all these years. Suddenly his phone buzzed.

-Where are you?

After a quick grin, Sherlock turned around to make his way back to 221B.

He walked through the door to a familiar sight, John reading the morning paper in his chair. The former soldier quickly glanced up from the news section with an annoyed sigh.

"Did you get my text or did you just ignore it?"

"I received it then immediately made my way back. Find anything of importance this morning?"

"I was worried, and no."

"Why would you be worried? It's not as if I've never been in London on my own," sneered the brilliant man. "Nothing? No murders last night? No break-ins?"

"No, Sherlock. But we have a situation that could get blown out of proportion at any hour and it's best to be careful at all times," John explained with sincerity.

"Speaking of Sleeping Beauty, where is she?" Sherlock asked, suddenly looking around the flat.

"She wasn't with you? Still sleeping then, I suppose," John answered, disappearing behind his paper once more.

"A bit late isn't it?"

"It's only nine. Maybe she's playing the woman card this morning."

"The 'woman card'? What is that?" sneered the concerned boyfriend.

"You know, sleeping in. Being lazy for a change."

"Not Steph." His expression told Watson that he was missing something obvious.

"Why not?"

"She wouldn't risk missing something by sleeping in," he replied as his voice died half way down the hall.

He peeked into his room and there she was, now wheezing quite a bit more than earlier. The emotions he had felt in the last several days were all catching up with him. At times he felt as if he was experiencing too many firsts too quickly or not in the proper order. This was one of those moments. It wasn't as bad as when Moriarty had John in the bomb vest but seeing her like this still made his stomach sick. If it had been anyone else sick in bed, he would roll his eyes and explain the biological reasons the ill person would eventually be alright. No. This was different.

Green eyes slowly pulled open, her irises making her skin appear all the more pale. Stephanie noticed the odd expression on his face before she even felt the fierce aching of her own body.

"Morning," he nearly whispered.

"Hello," she replied with a soft cracking voice. After staring at her curious boyfriend, she breathed, "You've been up a while. What time is it?"

The unusually quiet Sherlock sat beside her on his bed, long legs dangling off the side. When she tried to speak again, she began to feel the aching and congestion.

"It's nine, but you are very sick," he half grined, far more concerned than necessary.

"Who says I'm 'very' sick. It's not bad," she sassed while trying to sit up.

A large cool hand was placed on her shoulder to push her back down. She quickly responded by grabbing his hand and placing it against her cheek for relief from the burning sensation.

"You're burning up!" he noted with more feeling in his tone than appropriate.

"I'm fine, darling," she tried to smile.

"Stephanie," grinned the medical man, "you're extremely pale, you have a fever, your eyes are nearly swollen shut, and you look horrible."

She closed her eyes, knowing he was right on all accounts. She could feel the clammy skin holding her together, the burning of her body, and sensitive eyes. Her only prayer was that she didn't look as wretched as she felt.

"Well thank you for giving me the sweet version," sarcastically teased the ill creature.

He almost chuckled- but why? What was so comical?

John walked in, about to say something, and froze at the sight of Stephanie.

"Bloody…"

"Morning, John," the girl worked up an almost pleasant smile and pulled the cover over her chest.

He couldn't tell if she was blushing or if her face was simply that red from fever. Instead of saying another word, the good doctor simply pointed towards the hall. He was gone seconds later.

"That bad then?" Sherlock gave a sympathetic nod. "Well, I can take care of myself. If I need anything, auntie is downstairs. No worries. You and John can't wait around another moment. The two of you must have something to do."

"We are actually still looking for a case. A rather slow morning." He watched as she tried to move into a comfortable position. No luck. "Be right back," the handsome man winked before kissing her moist forehead.

Once he returned into the livingroom, he passed by a worried John without a word. Through the livingroom to the kitchen he went. Each time John heard a new noise from the next room, he began to say something. The strange sounds were so close together he was left silent. After the noise ended, Sherlock returned with an armful of medicine, a damp cloth, and a glass of water.

"Sherlock," John giggled before his friend disappeared again. The comical genius stopped in mid-step and gave his full attention to the doctor of the house. "What… are you doing?"

"She's ill. Flu, I think."

He began to walk off again when John continued, "And this is your reaction?" No reply. John couldn't help laughing. "If this was anyone else, anyone, you wouldn't give a moment's worth of concern or care."

"Your point?" It was said quickly with the annoyed tone the military man had grown used to a long time ago. John only shrugged before opening a nearby paper."No? Alright then."

Sherlock was almost out of the room when Watson inquired, "What about the Hyde Park robbery, page 8?"

"It was the nephew. Obvious," the detective called from down the hall.


	20. First Fight

The worried boyfriend felt more useful taking care of the sick beauty in his bed than he had felt doing 97% of London's greatest mysteries. She had suddenly given him a true purpose. Many remembered him for his incredible intelligence but today he would be remembered because of something else entirely. He was becoming someone different but wasn't entirely sure if he could ever allow these changes to be permanent. He was going soft and soft wasn't allowed in his line of work.

"What are you doing?" she wearily giggled the moment he walked through the door.

"What does it look like? You're a clever girl. Deduce. You're not ill enough to cease using your brain," he crossly replied. Anyone else would think he was being cruel but the adoring girlfriend immediately recognized his banter.

She sat up, prepared to take the medicine followed by the water. The cloth would certainly ease the burning sensation a bit but would be more of a nuisance than a help. The two had a silent agreement not to use their fantastic powers of deduction against eachother but she was already bored from spending the first fifteen minutes of her day sick in bed.

"Sherlock Holmes," she sighed in a lover's tone that felt strange even to her.

"What now?" he groaned while reading the label of the pill bottle.

"Look at you." The man paused to briefly stare at her with that single eyebrow raised. "Taking care of a helpless woman rather than being out and about doing what you do best."

"You're ill." The statement was uttered mater-of-factly but they both knew he was only saying the smallest fraction of what he was thinking.

"Yes. I'm also fully capable of taking care of myself as I've done for the last several years." She paused, a smile growing on her face just before she unleashed the real facts of the matter. "You're shoes are loosely tied- heart not set on leaving anytime soon? The growling of your stomach tells me you haven't eaten yet this morning so you're clearly not in a hurry of any kind, then again you eat like a bird any given day. In the few minutes I've been awake, you've hardly pressured John into finding a proper case for today which means you aren't very interested in work today and I have a pretty good idea of why. And you should know that I think it's foolish of you to stay home just to-"

She hadn't seen him pull the thermometer out of his pocket. It had been done too quickly. He immediately silenced her by slipping the thing between her lips as it beeped, coming alive to prove the severity of her illness. With thin lips, Stephanie crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Better," Sherlock said with an almost grin- glad to have silenced her so easily.

He left the room once more but she knew it was only a matter of minutes before his return. Until then, she listened to hear what was said in the livingroom. If she couldn't be in there, she still wanted to know what was being said- nosy thing.

"Any news?" The former doctor felt odd not taking care of the sick girl himself but he wasn't about to keep Sherlock from doing what he felt was necessary; attempting to stop the man would be mad.

"Taking her temperature now and we'll go from there," the tall comically focused man answered from the kitchen.

"So you're a medical man now?" He was trying quite hard to keep from giggling. This was all too entertaining not to watch.

Holmes' head popped out from the kitchen long enough to respond, "I've always been a medical man."

After a brief chuckle and a sideways nod of his head, John sighed, "No, you've always used science to solve cases. There's a difference between taking care of someone and figuring out how someone died."

"Are we out of milk?"

"I can ring Lestrade and see if he needs any help."

"No need to bother him. He calls when he needs help and if he doesn't need help he knows not to waste my time pretending he does." More noises came from the kitchen. "I can always tell the difference between the cases he genuinely needs me for and his petty charity crimes."

"Just keeping our options-"

"We're also out of beans," Sherlock announced while making his way back to the hall.

An irritated John threw his paper down and tried to remember where he left his keys. It was perfectly clear that he had two options: volunteering to go to the store now or being ordered to in another hour or so. He figured now was better than later since nothing was happening at present anyway. It was conversations like this that Watson had missed the years Sherlock had been gone.

"Going to the store then," the former soldier shouted down the hall. "Fine" was all he heard in reply. With a nod of happy disbelief, John left the flat, knowing that his best friend-the great Sherlock Holmes-was falling in love.

The moment he returned, Stephanie sighed, "Why did you laugh at me earlier?"

"I wasn't laughing at you- per say. I simply find you amusing when you are sick." He gave a wink that melted her heart and sent a quick chill through her tired body. If only she felt well enough to pull him down to her for a few snogs.

"You should be out on a case, not here playing governess."

"Governess? Much too Victorian. Nanny, perhaps. But I prefer temporary care giver- and by temporary, I mean only today."

"You still shouldn't be here."

"There weren't any good cases this morning."

"Any 'good cases'? Since when did they have to be good? I thought you were pleased with decent cases- mundane affairs Lestrade couldn't figure out."

"What was your temp?"

"It's fine," she smiled as if she suddenly felt better. After he gave her a cross glance, she sighed, "Just over a hundred and two. More than likely the flu. Certainly not mono or strep."

Instead of speaking, he sweetly put the chilled cloth on her forehead. The gesture nearly left her breathless. Little by little, he was becoming more romantic. Sherlock Holmes, the most curious closet romantic on the face of the planet. Steph motioned for him to lay next to her and he instantly obeyed, finding this the perfect opportunity for a bit of alone time. She put her head on his chest and he began to thoughtfully play with her hair.

"Sherlock, I need to tell you something important."

His mind immediately went to the three words he wasn't ready to hear. Not yet, at least.

"No," he whispered, putting a finger to her lips. "Not now. You're in no state for serious conversation."

"But it's important," she quietly argued.

"It can wait another day or two."

She snuggled close and gathered her words.

"Remember when you said you wouldn't do to me what you did to John?"

"What? Ask you to move in?" he managed with a straight face.

She gave him a quick small punch and made a whining noise. "Clever you," the girl answered with sarcasm. "I mean disappear, fake your death, drop off the face of the planet."

"I doubt there will ever be a cause to, dearest Cassidy," he chuckled. "If ever such an occasion would rise again, you would know. _That_ I can promise."

She seemed content with this for a few silent moments until she asked, "Would you tell John?"

"Oh, my dear girl, are we really doing this today while you're slightly delusional?" he growled, pushing her off his chest, sitting up to better watch her darting eyes and defensive body language.

"Doing what? Asking a perfectly logical question?"

"That was hardly logical," he slighted her.

"Try to be reasonable, Sherlock," she loudly groaned while sitting up beside him. "You must see the signs. Something is about to happen!"

"What's about to happen- a robbery at Baker Street? No one would dare!"

"Honestly, are you being this way for laughs? If so, it's a horrible joke." She was raising her voice at him now. He had never seen her so worked up over something so foolish.

"Maybe you should stay in bed a while longer. Sleep and get some rest."

"Stop behaving like this!"

"Like what?" he challenged.

"Like you didn't see the two men following us yesterday. Like you didn't notice the same two men talking to eachother on their mobiles at the gallery. Like one of your enemies isn't planning something big to get back at you for that clever stunt you pulled. Like someone isn't possibly watching us right now from across the street."

As she caught her breath he grinned, "So you did notice." He seemed very pleased at her beneath his inquiring surprised expression. "Good. Very good. That's all the more I don't have to explain later."

"You know I _hate_ when you do that- acting like you don't have the slightest clue what I'm going on about when I know good and well you do."

"But look at all the time we saved not having to go over everything. I now know that you're up to speed on everything and need next to nothing explained to you. And, just for your enjoyment, you got to yell at me a bit which surly made you feel slightly better."

"To be completely honest, I dislike you sometimes," she hissed, feeling a bit foolish and predictable, while falling back onto her pillow. She had imagined the day going a bit different.

"Not to worry. Most people do," he smirked.

They silently sat side by side, arms crossed, without touching. She was still trying to cool off while he found himself very amused to say the least. This had become one of his favorite games to play with her- one she loathed entirely.

Sherlock moved his hand around in hopes of finding one of hers. When his fingers finally slid over the soft skin of her smaller warm hand she moved it to where he couldn't grab it again.

With another entertained grin he teasingly asked, "I suppose this means no snogging session?"

"Make one of your famous deductions, Mr. Holmes," she replied in a most unpleasant tone, only increasing the size of his content smirk. "Bloody hell!" She yelled before jumping out of bed. Steph threw the moist rag at his head, grabbed her slippers and his blue house robe, and marched down to her aunt's.


	21. Lovers Vs Mycroft (Part II)

"Don't know how you're doing it but he's changing," Mrs. Hudson said with a small giggle.

"Change? He's Sherlock. He's not ever going to drastically change," Stephanie laughed as if it were the most ridiculous thought ever spoken. How could she be so upset at him and so mad about him all at once?

"Oh but he is, dear! Every once and a while I'll notice something new."

"For example…?"

"The two of you went out for the day, didn't you?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't remember a single time he's taken off the day like that. He's had the city memorized since he was a child and knows everything about everything. Him showing you around was quite the treat."

"I suppose," the girl absent mindedly replied. "He skipped work again today to take care of me."

Mrs. Hudson immediately noticed her overly thoughtful niece's silence. Following the direction of the girl's eyes, the old woman squinted out the window.

"What is it, love?"

"Mycroft," the young woman nearly hissed. First the building door opened and then there was a knock on the door of their flat. "Lowlife," Steph said under her breath.

"Be civil," her aunt replied, getting up from her chair. "I suppose you know what this is about?"

Her niece's icy glare was answer enough.

"Mycroft!" She welcomed him inside as if he was a member of the family. Steph hated that.

"Hello," the nuisance smiled, as much of a smile as government workers could muster. He walked right past her aunt and into the livingroom, his pleased eyes finding the redhead sitting too straight to be comfortable. "Good. I hoped you were down here."

"Instead of upstairs?" She didn't give him a moment to continue. "I don't live up there you know."

"Some would beg to differ with you, Miss Thomas," he chuckled with indifference filling his horrible thin face. "In fact, it has come to my attention that the two of you were seen out and about early just yesterday. And looking very happy from the sounds of it."

"Am I to guess that this source was following us?"

"Heavens no!" he crudely grinned. "Someone simply noticed and dropped me a line. People notice when people like my brother are acting strange- in this case, smiling and giving private tours of London."

"Well, Google Earth simply didn't satisfy me. Wouldn't allow me to have a proper look inside St. Paul's cathedral. The internet is funny that way."

The elder Holmes had been making a conscious effort to mind his tone until now. It was exactly like arguing with his little brother. Unbelievable. If they should ever breed…

"Miss Thomas, I highly suggest you take the next flight or train back home."

"Mr. Holmes, I suggest you keep out of the affairs of 221B. He is your brother, I understand, but there is no reason for you to talk to me like this."

They both looked at a pale and frightened Mrs. Hudson at the exact same moment.

"If you are going to have at eachother, do it upstairs. I will not have any unnecessary domestics in my home."

Mycroft walked towards the door and opened it with false politeness, even gesturing for her to walk out first. Stephanie muttered a quick apology to her aunt before briskly walking out. The two silently stomped up the stairs and directly into the upstairs flat. Sherlock had been tampering with his violin and bow as John, back from the store, sat in his chair with a rather uneasy expression.

At first, Sherlock only rolled his eyes, until Mycroft sneered, "Good afternoon."

"A decent afternoon doesn't involve you so how on earth could you possibly presume this to be a 'good'?" All eyes darted towards the coy elder. They each waited for his futile reply.

"Already defensive? My, what has she done to you? First, strolling around Hyde Park. Then mummy and daddy's favorite choice of dinning?"

"That's quite enough," Steph darkly stated, burning holes into the unwanted visitor's head.

"Get to the point," Sherlock sighed, returning his bow to its proper place.

"My point is… If you want her kept safe, send her away."

"I'm not leaving. We already discussed this," the brave head-strong girl declared. Their recent fight was suddenly erased, as if it had never happened. They could sort everything out later. Now, they were in couple mode and nothing was going to change their minds.

"If you don't leave on your own, someone-sooner or later-will remove you and take you God only knows where." He paused with a quick grin. "I don't need to remind you of what happened earlier this week. The bruises healing properly, I hope?"

The enraged redhead was about to speak when her boyfriend unexpectedly took her hand.

"She's safe."

A wide eyed Stephanie glanced down at their hands. He was doing this now? In front of his brother? He must have been desperate to make their point.

"Steph has been staying here with someone at all times- never left unattended. And it would be most inconvenient for her to leave now of all times because she came down with something this morning."

His brother took several steps until he was nose to nose with the younger Holmes.

"And when she's better and you go on a long case? When it takes all night and she's laying practically naked in your bed waiting for you to get home? Mrs. Hudson couldn't possibly run up the stairs fast enough to save her, am I wrong?" He paused again, noticing the deepening red of his brother's forehead as a vein began to show. "Gone. Just like that. And this time, I can assure you, it will not be overgrown children that stole her. And it will not be a vacant factory building in London."

"I'm not afraid," a bold young voice spoke up from beside them.

Taking a single step away, Mycroft sarcastically smiled with delight.

"Not yet. But you will be." Her intense disgusted stare grew by the second. "If your own life being risked doesn't scare you enough, perhaps them threatening your beloved Sherlock's life will."

She nearly gasped at the thought. Her absente female instincts were betraying her- creeping in the very moment she couldn't give into them. It was a simple fact that if Mycroft suspected even a hint of feminine emotion behind her face, her words would mean nothing.

"We've already had this conversation, _sir_." She hissed the title. "In this very room, if I recall. And I despise reruns."

"Then look after yourself with extra pre-cautions," he gently yelled at her, leaning down a bit to stare her directly in the eyes. His attention suddenly returned to a silent Sherlock. "If you care for her the way you appear to, if you don't want to find her dead within the next week, you know what you must do."

"How dare you…" Steph began coughing in mid-sentence.

Sherlock glanced over to find his girlfriend extremely pail as if she were going to faint. He took her into his arms and carried her to her bed. She was very embarrassed but couldn't speak. No longer could she pretend she wasn't ill. Her body was betraying her. He tucked her in and kissed her head.

"Just rest," he whispered, all anger from before completely gone for the time being.

Sherlock left the room to run his brother out of the flat. Mycroft must have known what was coming because she heard him begin his exiting speech.

"Before I go, I thought you should see this. This little note was left on my desk earlier this morning." A pause. "Too close, Cassidy."

Everything was turning white, Stephanie passed out in a silent panic, then the British government left the flat without another word.


	22. Precious Moments

It was very late in the night when she woke in the dark room. The telly could be heard down the hall, the volume on low. What little dialogue she made out didn't sound like anything John would watch so she knew who it was. Glancing at the small clock, she couldn't help a displeased moan at the sight of 3AM. Steph fumbled out of bed in search of the blue house robe- nowhere, he must have it on. A pair of his pajama pants, the ones he wore last night, were in the floor. Silently, she put them on, found a green fleece blanket in the bottom of his closet with a grin and made her way to him.

When she got into the livingroom, he was watching a news special about criminals and crime in London. Fitting, she thought to herself.

"What's wrong, curls? Don't get enough trouble in real life so you have to watch it at 3AM?"

"Making mental notes. Criminals go through changing phases, at least the good ones. It's always useful to know when crime trends change. These laughingstock 'specials' are good to view events from a more broad perspective than I couldn't get on my own. Granted, the train of thought never changes and the modifications made are never noticed by police. But you and I could easily spot warning signs most viewers simply let flash across their screen without a second thought."

He had entirely ignored her little nickname and was in a world all of his own- the one he preferred over all others. The world of crime was perfect for him, full of intricate puzzles. That's what kept him happy. Well, solving complex crimes with the added underrated element of danger. Without a word she plopped into his lap as a sick child would do to their mother.

As if he had done it a thousand times, the brilliant genius took her into his arms and quickly kissed her cheek. Someone who didn't know them would call him mostly unaffectionate and her average. This, however, was not true in the very least. Each looked perfectly comfortable as they were, yet both minds and emotions raced. This was so far from anything either had ever done- cuddling in front of the telly. Who would have ever thought?

"They are getting more clever, little by little," she sighed.

"And patterns _are_ changing. The upper class criminal is hiring more than ever before. They are becoming too confident to get their own hands dirty."

"Which makes it more simple for the authorities to find the top dogs. When the grave diggers get caught, it becomes easier to trace the idiots back to someone or some group."

"Very good," he grinned, meeting her eyes for the first time with slight pride. "So pleased that you are only a few steps behind." She rolled her eyes with a blush- such a compliment from the great Sherlock Holmes. "Feeling any better or faking it?"

"Neither. Usually I can work just fine while sick. But this is a bit different. Perhaps my memorable fieldtrip to the abandoned factory added a bit of stress to staying with auntie Hudson. My parents already disapprove."

"Practical," he flatly commented.

Only the woman he claimed as his girlfriend would forget to include her new emotions to the stress equation. While he didn't make a fuss over it, he could feel his own body adjusting to the extra worries and cares of the day that had never been there before.

As she rested her head on his shoulder, he couldn't form words in his head to describe what was going on inside of him. When would all this "new" fade? How much more could he take? Sherlock turned towards her as the light of the telly screen made her eyes glow a sparkling blue color. He only stared a few seconds before pressing his lips onto her neck. She tensed under his touch, the way he was beginning to adore, breathing more raged than before.

Steph let out a sudden cough before he pulled away and whispered, "You need to go back to bed. Gain your strength. Rest." His nose caressed her warm cheek. Never had he wanted to do something as silly as actually wishing she'd get better. Wishing did nothing.

"Only if you come with me," she replied in the same hushed tone he had used. Their eyes met and locked as they each breathed in silence. He only gave a slight nod in reply before the screen fell black.

Steph stood then stretched her arms to the ceiling. Just as her muscles began to ache, she was scooped up into the strong arms of the most complicated wonderful man she had ever known. He actually smiled at her while carrying her to his room. The woman put her arms around his neck and relaxed against his chest.

"You're spoiling me, Mr. Holmes," she tried to giggle despite her feeling so weak.

"It's about time someone does," he teased, knowing full well that she had always gotten everything she had every truly wanted. But she stole his breath and boggled his brain all the same. He gently put her on the mattress before changing into sleep clothes.

She watched him from under the warm covers. The muscles of his back were memorizing. His collarbone always inviting to her for a nibble. The mop of curls were her favorite; she found it ironic that the most intelligent, dangerous man in all of England had the hairstyle of an innocent child. His light freckles were perfectly scattered on his shoulders. And who knew what was going on in that head this moment. All of this was hers. It didn't seem real. What had she ever done to deserve such a man, such a treasure?

"I bet your first snog was quite something," she blushed from his side of the bed.

"For her."

"She wasn't good then?"

"It didn't mean anything to me," he admitted. "Why inquire about such a thing?"

"Just trying to imagine young Sherlock. I'm sure college Sherlock was a royal pain," she lightly laughed.

"I loathed uni. Dull lazy people with no direction. So-called educators that weren't even experts of their field."

"And your cocaine habit," she added, returning his quick gaze towards the bed.

With one corner of his lip upturned, he sighed, "So that's how that feels."

"When did you quit, or have you?" Steph was far too interested now.

"It only comes out once and a great while, if you must know. Only extreme levels boredom triggers it. I suppose if I was ever to come near a mental breakdown I would keep to myself that particular night."

"It's a fun drug," she mused after a pause. "Let's the mind wander pleasantly."

Her words faded just as his sleep trousers were completely pulled up, torso still naked. Sherlock jumped onto the bed with a playful growl from the back of his throat.

"And how would you know?"

"You're not the only one who gets bored," she winked.

He was suddenly hovering over her, coming down for a kiss. It didn't take but a moment for her to forget her aching body or sore throat. All of that faded when he pressed his lips firmly against hers. Her body raised closer to him as passions flared. She couldn't help thinking of the song Wonderwall. What was wrong with her? Her eyes opened after noticing the absence of his lips.

"You need sleep, remember?" he sighed rolling onto his back.

"Not that bad," she whispered before climbing onto his chest, silently begging for more.

They faded into their own world of sheets and sweat. Her tangled hair moved from her shoulders to her back then danced against his neck. Both knew that that this was not the night but that didn't keep them from flirting with the line between want and need. It was nearly five when they cuddled together in peace.

"I know you don't make promises but try your best." She paused, not even wanting to meet his eyes. "If they take me again, don't come for me."

Steph felt his chest slightly bounce in a silent chuckle beneath her before a low, "Daft girl."

Sherlock kissed the top of her head then they drifted to sleep.

She had a nightmare that night but didn't wake him. She didn't want him to see her tearing up.


	23. Lunch Outing

It was another two days before Steph felt almost normal again. When the young woman woke up, she found that she was home alone. After throwing on the blue robe, making the bed, a quick breakfast, and a wonderful shower, she went downstairs for a visit.

"Look who's back from the dead," sang the excited sweet landlady.

"I wanted to come by to thank you for taking care of me while the boys were out the last few days."

"Nothing at all, dearest. You came for a holiday but I'm not sure this was all you bargained for," sighed the loving aunt.

"It's been quite the experience, yeah?" They sat in front of the telly for several minutes before Steph quietly thought aloud, "It's going by too quick. I blinked and a week went by."

"Honestly, Steph," Mrs. Hudson replied with disapproval. "You make it sound like you've been at a picnic all this time. First that horrible incident and then the flu. Your holiday is only beginning." The elder saw the light fade from her niece's eyes. She grabbed the soft hand then reminded, "Only five days left. What are you going to do?"

"Do?" The girl suddenly smiled. "Yes, what are we going to do today?" Changing the subject was much more simple than even thinking about leaving all of this behind- the life she had always longed for in her wildest, most secret of dreams.

"Are you sure you feel up to going out? I was going to run by a few shops in a while. Maybe have lunch out?"

"Yeah. I'd fancy lunch out with my favorite aunt," Steph smiled, welcoming the one on one time with the only family member that came closest to understanding her. Then again, Mrs. Hudson had plenty of practice with intelligent sociopaths.

They took off after Jeremy Kyle went off, Mrs. Hudson's favorite. Steph loved to watch her aunt watch the ridiculous show. The old woman would scream and shout at the bad mothers, absentee fathers, and wild children.

"I don't know what makes people so mad these days," the woman sighed as the world's troubles flooded her mind.

"Would you like me to remind you who occupies the flat above yours now or later?" laughed an amused Stephanie.

The two women took the tube down to Westminster. It had only been a few days since Sherlock had taken her to the very spot but it took her breath all the same. Big Ben rang a loud greeting as tourists mused at the sights and sounds, cameras everywhere. But one camera appeared to be out of place. He was pretending to be in awe of the grand clock tower but kept glancing at her. Her first instinct was to confront the staring stranger but she couldn't put her aunt, oblivious to most things, in harm's way.

"Ah, St. Stephen's Tavern. I've always wanted to eat here. Heard they have fantastic fish and chips." The words were spilling out while she took her aunt's arm and pulled her inside the safe public place. "Better hurry. The second lunch shift will be coming any moment."

Mrs. Hudson laughed at her niece's sudden enthusiasm. If only the old thing knew how much danger they were in. Steph thought about texting Sherlock to let him know what was going on. She had tried to tell him before but he immediately shut her up for some reason. What did he think she was going to tell him? Or the better question, what didn't he want to hear? He was probably on a case and wouldn't want to be bothered by something that could wait. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted a girlfriend. This was precisely the sort of unwelcomed distraction he had avoided until her. She could keep a sharp eye out today and catch him up later tonight. Nothing too severe could happen in the next several hours. Nothing she couldn't take care of. Right?

The meal was pleasant but her attention was diverted, not that her aunt noticed. She began to tell the same four stories about her and Steph's mom- the ones about tormenting eachother until her mother finally moved out. Mrs. Hudson would always say that she victoriously ran her elder sister off while her mother always claimed to be victorious by moving out first, growing up first. But as the story was ending, Steph couldn't help noticing faces peeking through the windows. Some were simply rude tourists searching for a place to eat while others appeared more suspicious.

"Steph?" The girl was taken from her thoughts. "I asked if you were alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Suddenly not feeling well. Guess I wasn't ready for a day out after all," the clever girl lied. From here to 221B Baker Street, she needed to be very careful. Their lives depended on it. "Would you mind waiting while I use the loo?" She knew Mrs. Hudson couldn't pass a chance to use the loo, even if it was just to fix her hair or lipstick.

"Oh, I'll join you, dear." Perfect.

They left their money and crossed the sea of tables and smiling faces. Once they got to the toilet, it was a bit crowded. Mrs. Hudson told Steph to go first. At first the girl wanted to argue, knowing that she could keep them safer by being the look-out. But her going first proved very useful. When she walked in, she immediately found the perfect solution to their current problem. Was is the proper thing to do? Of course not, she thought with a large grin.

The red haired girl at the sink was clearly an American tourist. She wore black trousers identical to the ones Steph was wearing. Same hairstyle and the same amount of cover-up. It was a match made in heaven.

"Hello," she greeted the young foreigner.

"Hey," the confused girl replied with a bit of hesitance.

"I really like that shirt. Quite a bit, actually."

"Oh," the girl blushed, obviously not used to talking to strangers. "Got it from Target back home."

"America, yeah?"

"Yeah. How did you know?" she laughed, hardly more than an ignorant child.

"We won't go into that," grinned Steph, silently deducing the teenager. "Do you like my shirt?" The girl quickly nodded after taking a good hard look at the expensive fabric and design. "Good. Could I bother you to trade? Free of charge! Take the L.K. Bennett shirt off my back and enjoy the remainder of your time in London."

Once the girl's jaw returned to its proper place, she only nodded

Stephanie heard her aunt come in while she was changing shirts with her look-alike in the next stall. The American was first to leave, completely giddy about what was sure to be the most memorable souvenir of the trip. The loo had emptied considerably when Stephanie followed the girl to the door. She watched with her head slightly peeked out to watch the girl disappear. Her aunt came out and began washing her hands without a care in the world. While she wasn't looking, the clever young woman threw an earring on the ground.

"Have you seen a black earring auntie?"

"No, have you lost one, dear?"

"Yeah. I think it dropped over here," she lied, keeping an eye on the supposedly missing object. This gave whoever was following her a chance to follow the thick American. "Oh, found it!"

"Oh, wonderful," Mrs. Hudson cheered clasping her hands together with joy. "Are we ready then?"

"Think so," Steph smiled.

They were walking out when the daft old dear asked, "Have you been wearing that shirt all day?"

"Oh, auntie Hudson," she giggled, linking her arm through her aunt's.

They walked out of the tavern when Steph took a quick glance around, just in case. After scanning the area for only fifteen seconds, she saw three large brutes walking a few paces behind her American. She told her aunt to wait a moment before they ventured on. Her pulse rose as one tapped the girl on the shoulder. The girl's face was priceless after cheerfully turning around to find the six threatening eyes staring at her. Steph wished she could have seen their big rough faces looking at eachother in complete bewilderment. The girl they had been following wasn't the one they wanted.

"Brilliant," she whispered, feeling more clever and accomplished than she had in days. "Let's get back home. Still not feeling well."

"Absolutely, sweetheart. On our way now."

When they returned to Baker Street, John and Sherlock were sitting at Mrs. Hudson's kitchen table. The two pairs were puzzled at eachother's presence. Sherlock was first to break the shared stares.

"You're safe," he breathed, overly thankful.

The usually cold man stood from his chair, crossed the room, and pulled Steph to his chest.

"You had any doubts?" She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, not wanting to worry him just yet.

"We didn't know you were going out today and when we came back, everything was empty. Nothing was moved but we got worried. Wouldn't be the first time…"

"That's enough Dr. Watson," the landlady grinned, not even wanting to think about another kidnapping at Baker Street.

The lover' eyes met just before Steph whispered, "You. Upstairs."

"Yes, ma'am," Sherlock replied, almost flirtatious. At first he wondered why she wasn't returning his intimate gestures. It was as if she didn't even appreciate his being so bold.

She took his hand and promised the others that they would be down shortly. There was something they needed to talk about. John and her aunt only nodded, trying to hide their astonishment at Sherlock's hugging her. These were strange times at Baker Street. They left the others in the kitchen making small talk, Mrs. Hudson telling John what a wonderful lunch they had. But that wasn't the version Ms. Thomas was about to tell her boyfriend.


	24. Casanova

"That isn't your shirt," he noted as they ventured upstairs.

"And you were quick to jump to negative conclusions for a man without a protective history."

"Don't be so certain of my protectiveness," he argued, a far off tone in his voice. He probably hated when people attempted to figure him out.

"Yea, she said something about you throwing someone out a window? That's the moment I wanted to meet you," she confessed with a soft teasing blush.

"To think you've always been so close yet so far." There was that new tone again. But it wasn't really new because he'd been using it more and more the last week or so.

They got inside his empty flat with hearts pounding in their chests for very different reasons. Each were in their own thoughts and, for once, they weren't on the same page at all. Not even close. As soon as they walked inside, a hesitant Stephanie put her words of bad tidings together while Sherlock quickly closed the door. She heard him take two steps and then she was suddenly spun around to face him. His hands pulled her face towards his in a passionate kiss, making her prepared words fade into electric waves throughout her body.

She didn't dare question his sudden romantic streak. Instead, she moved her hips closer to his and returned the deep long kisses. By the time his hands found her waist, she had told herself to end their moment three times. Four. Five. He was a bloody fantastic kisser. How could he make her forget everything in a single moment? How was he turning her into one of those sappy lovesick girls that went weak at the knees from a single glance. The girl finally gathered her thoughts long enough to ever so slightly pull away from him.

"What's all this about?"

"Was just worried, that's all," he said before running his nose gently up her jaw line.

"Oh, that's all, ay? I'd say there was something more that you aren't telling me. Something, perhaps, you don't want me to know?"

At this, the brilliant detective leaned his thin body back to get a better look at his girlfriend. He shook his head and gave a shrug as if he didn't know what she was talking about. The torn girl released her hands from him and ran one through her long hair. What should she tell him? Were the words she had put together before too much or too little? It had all been so clear earlier in the day. Now, she wasn't sure what to make of it all.

"I tried to tell you before-"

"And I said you weren't up for serious conversation. You and your aunt were only gone for two hours. Takes much longer than that to eat AND shop with Mrs. Hudson. That isn't the shirt you put on this morning, not even a proper English brand," he sneered.

"That's what I've been trying to tell yo-"

"You told her that you weren't feeling well so here you are, only a few hours after you left," he briskly continued, his speech making her dizzy for the first time.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. "Client!"

"Wonderful! Finally something to do around here- other than fret about gorgeous redheads. We shall continue later, Cassidy," he winked.

If only she could be in such a mood. She began to wonder if he was ignoring all of the signs or if he was genuinely too preoccupied to be concerned. If only she could tell him- then he would be worried. He dashed off with a smirk, the one used when he was pleased at the misfortune of someone else. His detective smirk. The one she normally would blush over. But she didn't feel safe enough to blush. Not at the moment. It was a good possibility that someone was watching them this moment. Simply being in the flat alone gave her an eerie feeling. With a melancholy sigh, she closed the door and made her way downstairs to join the others.

Her aunt was washing dishes as John was flipping through channels. She sat next to John and didn't feel like making the usual small talk. The friend immediately picked up on her body language. Knowing Sherlock the way he did, he knew the maddening affects one conversation could have on a person. Talking to Holmes usually left him quiet and thoughtful, and very put off.

"What did he do now?" the ex-soldier nearly laughed through his knowing smile.

After a brief pause, she looked right at him for the first time and asked, "Have you ever tried telling Sherlock something, something important, and he just wouldn't listen? And he's supposed to. He's supposed to hear everything, whether he wants to or not because he's too bloody nosey not to."

"Only every day," John chuckled to himself, remembering a few specific times.

"No, I mean, something very important. Like, if he doesn't listen someone could get hurt?"

John turned off the telly and moved his body to face her.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, trying to piece something together.

But she couldn't put this burden on John, of all people, not John. She couldn't even tell him a fraction of it. Someone with his simple straightforward mind and huge heart couldn't handle such information without trying to throw himself into the messy equation.

"Yes," she lied. "It's fine. I'll just try again later."

Sherlock burst through the door and yelled, "John, the game is on! I have a cab waiting outside." As quick as he had popped in, he was gone again.

"We're off," John tried to smile. "Would you like me to say something to him?"

"No, thank you." He began to walk away when she added, "John," he turned around. "Do you remember when I told you that I was glad he had you?" The best friend of Sherlock Holmes nodded. "I mean it more now than I did then."

He gave her a genuine smile then left the room. Once he joined Sherlock outside, he noticed his friend's unusually giddy demeanor. They got into the cab and took off to somewhere that would be explained in due time. Sherlock never explained right away, if he did at all.

"You're all smiles," John noted, wondering why Steph was so down and Sherlock so uncharacteristically-dare he say it?-happy.

"A new case, a woman friend that is more than tolerable, Mrs. Hudson is less annoying than usual, and you have been more relaxed as of late- the new girlfriend working out?"

"Yes, actually," he replied. "A relationship is much easier when the woman doesn't think you're with your flat mate. You'd be surprised. Now that you have Stephanie-"

"Oh, Stephanie," Sherlock adoringly sighed, making John's jaw drop with shock for a second time today. "A woman after my own heart. Clever girl, that one is. Young, alive, reasonable, and do you know that she has yet to text me?"

"She hasn't texted you since she moved in?" John scratched his head. Sherlock gushing like this made him extremely uncomfortable for some reason. Was this how the genius felt when he went on about his past girlfriends- especially Sarah?

"The most un-clingy woman on the face of the planet, John! And I never imagined attraction being so…"

"Distracting," the friend chuckled with an amused expression. "You do realize that this time, the cab ride to wherever we are going, is usually spent preparing? You taking mental notes aloud, me listening. You cursing at yourself for already missing something 'obvious', me listening. You asking for my input, then you not listening."

"Oh, this isn't exactly a case. We're only looking for Madame DeMires' missing jewelry."

"You're wasting time on old jewelry?!"

"Of course not!" the consulting detective harshly laughed, his face crinkling as if the very idea was mad. "She said I could keep the bracelet if I found all three pieces- necklace, earrings, bracelet." John's gaze narrowed a bit more. "For Stephanie! About time I give her something other than a hard time, don't you think?"

"I. Cannot. Believe you," the amazed flat mate flatly stated. Was this really happening? Was Sherlock going into full boyfriend mode? Was this even possible? "There's no other incentive?"

"Alright, fine. We get to keep the thing and she puts our names in the paper before she adds the jewelry to the British Museum."

"Charity work. We're doing charity work to make you look good for your… girlfriend?"

"Oh, John, as ever, you are missing the bigger picture."

"Yes, I am completely lost on this one."

Hours later, the jewelry was found in a secret underground tunnel beneath The Globe theatre. As always, it was a long complicated process that John only fully processed half of. The rest was all Sherlock, who had been entirely too frivolous throughout the case. They were thanked and handed a decorated wooden box with the bracelet inside. John rolled his eyes when Sherlock politely thanked Madame DeMires for the "most generous and appreciated" gift.

"You'll be appreciating it when that bloody thing sets you up properly with Cassidy," the blogger hissed. "How to steal a young girl's virtue- that's what this one is going to be called, all caps. Not even going to mention the case. Just going to write about how men use jewelry-"

"And intelligence."

"And intelligence to win over- wait!"

Sherlock couldn't contain his wide triumphant grin.

"Do keep calm, John. You'd be surprised to know that it is she that is after my virtue, not the other way around. She is already a woman of the world while I sit back and wait for the perfect-"

"I don't even want to know what has been going on in your bedroom the last week. Nope. Not interested. Don't want to know."

"It's hardly been more than what you saw the other morning. We've been very respectful… so far."

"Ah! And you are planning to change that. You're just waiting to get it off with-"

"With Mrs. Hudson a staircase away? I wouldn't dream of it," he smirked, popping his coat collar to push John over his limit.

They caught a cab and made their way back to Baker Street. It was almost nine when the cab pulled up to the building. The mates walked right up to their flat, immediately noticing it being empty.

"Steph?" Sherlock called, walking around the flat with the pretty box behind his back. When he couldn't find her, he thought it best to give her the surprise later. The recently sentimental man put the box in his sock drawer. For just a moment, he found delight in the thought of giving her such a gift. He couldn't wait to see her face light up with lo-

"We're home," John yelled before plopping down in his chair.

"Must be downstairs. Be right back."

Sherlock hadn't been gone but a few seconds when John chuckled shaking his head. It was like living with a different person. This girl was doing the impossible in more ways than was even noticeable. His flat mate was possibly falling harder than any bloke had ever fallen in the last century. Who knew the world's only consulting detective was a Casanova?


	25. Calm Before the Storm

This one goes out to my lovies KijoKuroi, kykyxstandler, and sentviaLondonInstitute. Not two but THREE updates b/c of their 3 and support. You guys are the best! Thanks to all readers for keeping up so far. After this chapt, the game is on!

* * *

Mrs. Hudson's door was locked, not a sound to be heard coming from inside. Sherlock skillfully unlocked the door with an uneasy feeling in his chest. He didn't care for the way he was worrying over her constantly but he had been warned that worry came with the relationship. Little had he known it would be to this degree. The lock made a sudden pop and then he silently opened the door. It was obvious that Mrs. Hudson had been in bed for some time- the old thing was already snoring. But where was the holder of his deepest affections?

He quietly made his way down the hall to the guest room. In his robe, watching something on her computer with ear buds in, she sat like a statue with her eyes glued to the glowing screen. There was much going on in that mind of hers. Endless thoughts could almost be seen floating above her in a jumble of words. It was as if she hadn't even noticed his presence but her being slightly tense let him know otherwise. Not a word was spoken as he sat behind her, taking special care not to touch her.

They sat this way for thirty silent minutes. When he took a seat behind her, she was researching crime leaders of London, recent videos and news articles. Next she quickly glanced through each leader's profile and history, hacking into Scotland Yard's private files. From there she checked her email, nothing of importance. After that, she created a new memo and typed one word: hello.

"We have perfect internet upstairs as well," he gently whispered in that kind voice she couldn't get used to.

Stephanie closed her laptop and put in on the floor. Keeping silent, she crawled into his lap. His protective arms wrapped around her as his chin rested against her forehead. Now wasn't the time to tell her about the gift. It wasn't time to make one of his smart remarks either. For the first time, he was ready to hear what she had to say. It clearly wasn't what he had originally predicted. She wasn't about to make a profound confession. Something was wrong and had been wrong for days. He just wanted to continue as they had been the first few days, without danger or threat.

"Tell me," he whispered into her hair, almost hating himself. Sherlock felt her take a deep breath for courage.

"We were being followed yesterday. I traded shirts with a girl that looked enough like me to throw them off. Didn't want to worry her so I lied and said I didn't feel well. She fell for it and you know the rest." He paused, already putting a fraction of the puzzle together- despite not having all the proper pieces. "And I heard Mycroft the other day. That note was a warning, Sherlock. I should have told you sooner."

He could tell that she was avoiding any and all signs of weakness or helplessness. She wasn't about to ask for his help. But she also wasn't going to let him know how scared she genuinely was. He couldn't tell her yet but it was that precise moment that he was certain. He had known it from the night he rescued her but there was no turning back now. Perhaps this was the climax of his new strange emotions.

"Steph, I need you to tell me everything. No detail spared."

"You could probably deduce most of it yourself."

"But I need to hear it all from you the way you perceive it. All accounts through your eyes."

She pulled away from him to search his light eyes in the darkness.

"Are you sure you want to see inside of my mind, Mr. Holmes?"

"Please." He was half lover, half detective now.

She kissed him once before beginning. "I received an email the day after arranging my flight to Heathrow. They were probably looking for someone my age and gender going to London. All they had to do was check up on the few girls heading this way. There is a possibility they connected me with aunt Hudson, perhaps not. If they had someone who knew what they were doing heading the research party, which they did, it would have been simple. The email told me to meet them, gave a time and a place, after my first night and I was to give them information about you and John. I had decided against it before the plane even landed. They could have tagged my phone so I've used it as little as possible since arriving- not big on talking anyway since texting is far less time consuming."

One corner of his mouth curled for the briefest of moments, but she noticed his delight. How alike they were.

"That first time we talked, I knew right then whose side I was on. And when that brute got me the first time, I knew he wasn't involved just by looking at the idiot. Whoever sent me the email told me to stay within arm's length of you without getting involved. So they've taken note of our every move since I've been here and have probably been watching us here as well. Your nickname didn't help matters," she grinned, realizing how bitter-sweet it was all becoming. "We were followed on our day out by the same men that followed me today. Not sure about the phone and internet connections. Maybe they are bugged, maybe not. The note was their last warning. Until now, they were giving me time to change my mind, to change my side. Since I haven't and don't plan to, they are sure to retaliate. I've been sick mostly from stress but I can't stay inside forever. And others will eventually be drug into this. Starting with John and my aunt. She doesn't know about any of this. Nor does John for that matter."

"Right," he sighed, trying to form a plan.

She took his hand, "It won't be too much longer, dearest. We need to take extra precaution from here on out. Maybe ring Mycroft? He could be useful." Sherlock rolled his eyes with a noise of disgust. "We need all the resources we can get."

"John and I have a case tomorrow morning, nothing of great importance. Should be solved by noon, three at the very latest. Stay here with your aunt and don't let one another out of your sights. Understand? We can sort the rest out and form a plan tomorrow evening. Maybe go somewhere secret, somewhere they won't expect all of our little group to go."

"Fine." She put her small arms around his slender body and listened to him take several deep breaths.

"Come upstairs?" he nearly begged.

Steph stared at him for a moment, her head and heart in disagreement.

"I need to stay with her. Wouldn't know what I would do without her," the girl tried to smile, not wanting to imagine her life without the best woman she knew.

"Nor I without you." It was said so soft, mostly so unexpected, that she questioned if she had simply imagined him saying the words. All doubts of his sweet remark were dashed when he kissed her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin longer than a casual kiss permitted. "Then I'll stay down here tonight."

"No, you protect John. We'll be fine down here."

"Already tired of my company, Cassidy?"

"Never," she breathed, amazed how different this man was from the one she had met only a few days ago. Their lips brushed before she sweetly ordered him upstairs. "Sweet dreams," she whispered down the hall when he disappeared.

"Good night, Stephanie Thomas," he sang in the same hushed tone.

They changed into their night clothes and got into their beds in almost perfect unison. Their routine had already been made and tonight was their first night apart. The clocks read eleven when all the lights in 221B Baker Street were turned off.

When the creaking of stairs woke Stephanie up a bit past one, she found herself in a perplexed cold sweat. Stunned, the young woman could only watch as her bedroom door crept open. The walking pattern sounded too familiar to go completely mad over. His silhouette, bouncing curls and all, sent a flood of relief through her body.

"I thought we agreed," she giggled, more asleep than awake. She moved over towards the wall to make room.

After he was settled next to her under the covers, he whispered, "Sleeping alone is nearly impossible knowing that you are only a staircase away."

His arms wrapped around her the way they had for the last week. It was the deepest feeling he had ever had in his life. The thought of losing her was absolutely unbearable. Never would he have guessed the distance that would exist between them in just twelve hours.


	26. The Last Morning

Her eyes opened before his mobile alarm sounded, ending this most human of moments. She studied him as he slept, her head propped up by her elbow. His elegant curls framed his forehead as innocent as they pleased. The lines between his nose and the corners of his mouth were perfectly straight. His eyelashes were surly the envy of every woman that had ever been close enough to notice them, thick and perfectly curled up. So rugged, yet majestic, was this face that had seen horrors most others couldn't fathom. This was the face that was soon to see a new sort of terrifying. It was only a matter of days until something happened.

And when it did, would she be prepared? Would he be prepared? In her mind, she had already formed a fraction of her plan: what she would say if certain questions were asked, placed in London she could hide if she escaped, and physical methods to keep from passing (especially when being beaten). But first, there was something important she needed to do. Now was the time to do it, while he was asleep.

She took special care in not waking him when she reached over to grab his phone. His breathing slightly changed but not enough to worry here. Her fingers vigorously tapped on the screen- she knew exactly what she was doing. He began to stir just as she put the device exactly as she had found it. Steph returned to the position she had been while admiring him and pretended to do so. When those bright blue-green eyes fluttered open, she didn't even attempt to contain the large adoring grin.

"How long have you been up?" he whispered with a cracking voice. If there had been more room in the bed he would have made a pass at her. It wasn't possible for someone to look so desirable just after waking- her hair all a mess and face still pale in the morning light.

"Only a few minutes."

"What were you doing with my phone?" he smirked, already pleased at himself for the morning.

"Checking the time, darling." The contentment in her voice was driving him all the more mad.

"I highly doubt that." His hands wiped at his eyes and over his neck. She took in his every movement for a reason she didn't even understand. "I have that case this morning. Shouldn't be too long. Can you manage staying out of trouble for a couple of hours?"

"I'm not quite sure. It is getting terribly boring around here. I'm a creature most happy when busy and the last few days have been anything but."

"Wouldn't say that. The single time you ventured out, you caused a little stir in Westminster- as I recall."

"That was nothing. No harm done. She got a new blouse and we got away undetected."

"The next time I can promise it won't be thugs or brutes after you. The brains of the operation is about to be revealed."

"Let's not ruin the morning talking about it, yeah?" She kissed his cheek in the innocent manner he seemed to appreciate first thing of a morning. A small gesture that reminded him that he wasn't alone when feeling these odd times of sentiment.

In that moment, she knew that this was the calm before the storm. The last few minutes before everything changed. She could feel it from her turning stomach to her racing mind. Her door opened, tearing her from her thoughts. There was just enough time for them to pull the blanket over their chests and wait for the scream.

"Sorry!" she yelled the second she saw them. Mrs. Hudson was in the doorway just long enough for the lovers to see her face turn bright red. The woman gasped before slamming the door shut, mumbling a few curse words and opinionated statements.

Stephanie quietly giggled into her blushing boyfriend's shoulder, placing a small kiss on his skin before releasing an amused sigh.

"That will never get old," she mused.

His eyes changed, growing with that familiar intensity she had begun to crave. Without speaking a single syllable, he came in for the first tender kiss of the day. She allowed one then sweetly reminded him of his case. Pushing a turned-on Sherlock out of bed was always a chore. He wanted it. She wanted it. Yet this wasn't the proper morning for such activities. Not to mention this wasn't the proper place. They had promised to keep all serious snogging upstairs.

They left the downstairs flat, apologizing to her aunt before walking out, and began their morning routine. John was just getting out of bed himself from the looks of it. The unexpected happened when a pretty female came shuffling down the hall.

"Good morning," Steph nearly laughed in amazement.

"Hello?" The blonde stranger did a double take towards Steph and then shot John a questioning glare. He only smiled in response. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Cassidy, Sherlock's girlfriend." It was too exaggerated to be genuine but the new girl was the only one in the room who didn't know that.

John's date was slightly aggravated when the two men let out hearty chuckles, avoiding all eye contact. The overly friendly redhead held out her hand for a shake but was ignored. Not that she cared. If the woman couldn't take a joke, John needed to know that now rather than later. Showing him these things now was much kinder than him finding out later.

"Where do you sing?" Sherlock asked while putting the kettle on.

"I asked you not to tell anyone," the woman whispered to John in a cross manner.

"He didn't," Stephanie sighed. "We can just tell."

"How?" The confused blonde asked, calling their bluff.

"Well, there is your manicure- very popular with trendy vocalists," Steph replied, preparing toast and eggs.

"Please don't," John moaned, his attitude now turning more serious than before.

"Then there is your 'alternative rock' haircut, chopped in all different lengths," Sherlock added while setting up the table for three. John covered his face with a trembling hand.

"Oh, and the hole in your eyebrow. You have a piercing there but haven't used it since your glory days. Good decision. A bit juvenile for someone your age. Don't want to be trying too hard."

"That's enough. You've had your fun," John hissed nervously.

"Let's not ignore the style of her trousers. Those are older as well. It's a small sort of achievement to still fit in them. They are at least, what, seven years old? Perhaps your favorite from your days- bussing tables during the day and singing at night."

"And, no offense, the cover-up screams performer. Too bold, thick, and cheap- most of it probably rubbed off on the pillowcase last night."

The stunned woman stood there for a moment, eyes wide and face flushed. Four seconds later, she opened her mouth to say something, wanting to argue about the facts of her past. It took another six seconds for her to storm out of the room.

"That was completely uncalled for," Watson yelled, not used to staring down not one but two giddy faces.

"We were only having a bit of fun. I've been cooped up for days," Steph sighed as a teenager being lectured by their parent.

"Yes, and I wasn't about to let _Cassidy_ have all the fun," Sherlock whined before giving his girl a small wink. "Clever, by the way."

"Thank. You!" she sang, caring the plates of food to the table.

"Only three plates?" John asked, wondering why his friends were being so careless. There was obviously four of them about to eat.

"Three. Two. One." Steph quietly counted, almost to herself but Sherlock heard.

"Three, two, one?" John repeated, clearly missing something.

The unsuccessful singer returned with her purse, wearing her jacket, hair put up in a messy bun, and carrying one of John's pillows. Sherlock and Steph pretended to be busy as John walked up to the livid creature.

"Alexa, please," he began.

"You wanted me to meet your friends ay? Why?! So they could laugh at me?"

"It's really not like that. If you would just let me explain."

"No, John. I think it's time for me to leave." She threw the make-up stained pillow at his face then slammed the door behind her.

He turned around to see Sherlock and Stephanie with expressions only half as guilty as they should have been.

After a quick shrug, the sassy redhead said in a small voice, "Three plates."

Breakfast that morning was silent but the two genius constantly sent little grins across the table. Everyone threw the dishes into the sink and the men gathered their jackets. Sherlock was first to return. He picked up the pillow and grinned at the black and deep purple stains and smears across the pillowcase.

"Good call on the pillowcase," Sherlock almost laughed.

"We probably shouldn't have done that," his girlfriend giggled with slight remorse.

"No. He didn't like her all that much anyway."

"How could you tell?"

"They had take-away last night. If he thinks there is a future, he at least takes her to the Chinese place down the street."

"I see," she sighed, wondering what his reaction would be if she asked him to stay home for the day.

"Alright, ready," John hissed, upset but still accompanying his flat mate on the morning's case.

"See you later then," Steph smiled, standing on tip-toes to kiss her handsome boyfriend.

"Stay put," he reminded her. When she rolled her eyes, obviously despising his orders, he added, "Wait up. I want to pick up where we left off earlier."

"Oh, that's just great!" John moaned in disgust. "You run my girlfriend off and then talk all _mushy_ to yours right in front of me. Bloody fantastic."

"You didn't like her all that much anyway," Steph commented in a carefree but concerned voice.

"Oh?" John was ready to scream.

"You could have his at least took her to the Chinese down the street."

"I quit!" he muttered as he stormed out of the flat. "I'll get the cab. You have one minute, Holmes."

"He must be upset," Sherlock teasingly noted. "He never calls me that."

"Go," she sweetly ordered. "And find some way to make up for his loss. Be a bit more kind today."

It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes. They shared one last kiss, a tender one that neither wanted to end. Then he gently moved a strand of her hair behind her ear. Another moment then he was gone. And she was alone. The flat was silent.

She looked around, wondering what she could possibly do to waste a few hours. Then she heard her text tone. Hoping it was him texting something sweet, she ran to his bedroom- where she had left her mobile. One glance was all it took to make her light headed. From a blocked private number was sent:

-They have left you for the day. Last chance, Thomas.

"So it begins."


	27. It Begins

Stephanie Thomas' heart was pounding in her chest as each beat echoed deep in her ears. Her hands hadn't started to shake yet but her nerves were becoming raw with each breath. Her enemy was finally coming for her, probably in the next few hours. Her plan was becoming more of a reality each time she reviewed the process in her mind, detailed step by step. She had been in a posh sundress when his lips had last touched hers in a moment that had only become sacred since the received text message. Comfortable clothes were now needed since future events were so unclear. There was no way she was going to be kidnapped in heels again, that was certain. Jeans, one of Sherlock's light sleep shirts, and the zippered cotton jacket she brought from home would suit the occasion. After all, you could only be so cozy while tied up God knows where.

The nervous girl walked through her boyfriend's flat, moving things in hopes that he would notice her silent hints that something was wrong. She gave the place a very quick cleaning, making her hints all the more obvious- John could even pick up on a few of them. Everything she had thought to do in preparation had been completed, at least upstairs. Now came the difficult bit.

"Auntie," the girl called from the doorway.

"Bedroom," sang the sweet dear.

Keeping composure, Steph took her time in finding her aunt putting clean clothes in the closet. This had to be said exactly as she rehearsed or it would all fall apart. One deep breath and cold chill later, she walked into the room with a believable smile.

"Morning," greeted the seemingly happy niece.

"Almost afternoon," her aunt corrected.

"Yes," Steph softly replied with thoughts racing. "I need to talk to you about something. It's quite important and I need you to listen to every word and follow my instructions to the letter."

"What are you going on about, love?" She put the flowered dress down and walked towards the suddenly pale child. "What's wrong, Steph?"

"You have to stay here all day. Don't leave for anything! No reason at all, do you understand? Something is going to happen today and you need to keep all doors and windows closed and locked. Sherlock and John have their keys. They should return in a few hours but you have to promise to stay here. Promise me, now."

She pleadingly grabbed her aunt by the shoulders and gave a gentle shake for emphasis.

"But what are you going to do? You better not be out today yourself."

"I can't explain now but you have to trust me." Keeping her calm composure was becoming an unexpected challenge. "Promise."

"I most certainly will not. You are not to put yourself in danger, young lady. That is an order!"

"Promise!" Steph immediately felt horrible for shouting but was running out of time. "I'll be back in a few minutes and if I'm not-"

Her mobile buzzed in the jacket pocket. She didn't waste a single moment in checking the screen. It was the same sender as before- private.

-Your presence is desired at the request of Doctor Watson. Stratford tube station. Cab will be there. He was one hour.

When she caught her breath she kissed her aunt on the cheek and gave her one last hopeful stare, silently promising to return.

"I have to go. Please, whatever you do, stay here and wait for the boys."

"Steph!" the worried old woman cried. But she was too late. The determined beauty was gone.

She tried calling the good doctor as soon as she left the flat. Nothing. That was the first thing that wasn't right. Then she called Sherlock. No answer again. But Sherlock always answered his phone. Her pulse raised and boiled in her veins as she began to run towards the nearest underground.

The ocean of blank faces made it almost impossible to concentrate. Was she already being followed? Were there lookouts monitoring her progress? And was her aunt capable of following orders when it mattered most? With the passing of each minute, she prayed that John wasn't too badly hurt or mentally damaged- he was a soldier but still. Steph was so nervous that her hands began to shake while picking up her oyster card. By the time she reached the platform, the train's doors had just opened.

It was the longest tube ride of her life. Her aunt continued to call but Steph eventually had to turn her mobile to the "do not disturb" setting- something she felt a bit uncomfortable doing. She couldn't help hoping that Sherlock would somehow turn up. He would be the only one clever enough to find her right now. All hopes were dashed at the Stratford stop. As the intercom announced the present station, she felt as if she were going to pass out. Everything turned bright and she thought she was going to throw up. People rapidly passed her after she began leaning against a wall. She was in no state to be picked up by the strange cab just yet.

Pulling herself together, she took a few deep breaths, reminded herself of what was to be lost, and knew that she couldn't play the damsel in distress- not yet. They would take her, beat her, interrogate her, and further torture her before the man she loved could find her. If they were ever going to be together, truly together without fear, this is what had to happen. They had to find the master of the annoying brute marionettes. Whoever was behind this, she knew only two things about them. One, they wanted Sherlock dead at any cost. And the second fact was more painful than the first- they knew that he would be willing to die for her. Sherlock Holmes having a serious love interest was all they had ever needed, what they had been waiting for. Even threatening John Watson wasn't enough to satisfy their lust for the great detective's life.

"Bloody hell, he needs you," she quietly screamed to herself, just soft enough to receive one glare from an old man. "Get to it," she nearly whimpered. "Twenty minutes to save John."

Every bit of courage inside of her flared into a hot temper. A sudden burst of self-confidence sent her up the stairs. Her faith in Sherlock Holmes was stronger than the fear of her own death. Saving John was priority one. Finding the criminal mastermind was second. And a peaceful future with her soulmate was the overall goal- well, as peaceful as living with the madman could be.


	28. Clever Girl

Just before taking her last few steps towards sunlight, she moved her mobile where previously planned.

"You had better be as clever as you think you are," she whispered, taking a moment to picture his gentle face one last time before the torture began.

Three cabs were waiting near the station, the middle cab's door opening. The brave girl poised herself and made her way to the car. A low voice kindly asked her to take a seat. As he spoke, Steph noticed a few details of the other two cabs. The windows were tinted- cab modeled cars that weren't actually cabs. One sat much lower than the other, more bodies in the last car. The first forged cab had recently been detailed, shining a bit brighter than the later and newer tires- the person higher on the food chain was in the first cab while his goons were likely in the third. She calmly obeyed the voice. Before she could see any faces or notice any details, she was stuck in the arm. Everything faded into darkness. His face came to her thoughts once more before all went entirely black.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson attacked the two men as they walked into 221B.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson," he greeted with false pleasure. Already cooking today? Ketchup stain on your collar. You're unusually pale. And you've bitten all of your nails- a bit too old for that, aren't you? Isn't your niece taking proper care of you?"

"That's just it," she began to cry, tears streaming down her white cheeks. "She left and ordered me not to follow or leave. She was going on about something happening today. I don't know what happened!"

"My God," John whispered in shock. He turned to find a stunned Sherlock standing next to him- the always knowledgeable and verbal man completely speechless.

"She went out?"

"Yes, about an two hours ago. She didn't say a thing about where but she was frightened, Sherlock. She was so terribly frightened. Acting brave and all but I could tell."

"Don't leave. Don't even look outside," he ordered the terrified woman. "John, stay down here and take care of her," the worried boyfriend blurted as he left the room, mobile in hand.

"Oh no you don't. I'm helping. We're finding her together," John replied, following his flat mate.

"We need to keep our numbers as few as possible. Can't risk you or Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock glanced down at his phone then furrowed his brow. "John, check your mobile."

After doing as asked, Watson replied, "That's strange. It's off but I never turned it off. And we can't risk losing Stephanie either. Mrs. Hudson can go next door or something. I'm coming with you."

"Our mobiles were turned off at some point this morning," Holmes bitterly announced through gritted teeth. He wasn't liking this already but continued upstairs.

"Wait, you think someone turned them off? There's no way it could be coincidental?"

"This morning? This morning, of all mornings? When Steph has been threatened all week and suspected something would happen today? Do be rational."

"Then how could someone have-"

"Did you notice anyone close to us or take notice of us while we were out?" Simple-minded John lifted his eyes to the ceiling while thinking as Sherlock began to pace. Suddenly, the taller man stopped and spun on his heels. "The man with the remote control boat, at the park."

"Yeah, I saw him but how-"

"He looked out of place. Too old for such a child's toy. Clothes too dark and thick to be outside, not to mention similar to the attire of our first band of misfits."

"He did seem odd but-"

"The remote device could have been meant for us- to shut our mobiles off as we passed. Blast- how did I miss that?!" He was talking mostly to himself now so John gave up and simply listened. "Alright, so they didn't want us using our phones, didn't want us to ring anyone- NO! Didn't want anyone to ring us. Didn't want their prisoner to ring us! So they temporarily blocked communication, giving them some time." He began to pace again, eyes not looking anywhere in particular. "She cleaned then left but changed a few things before leaving. So she knew she would be leaving. Something happened to make her leave."

"What? What do you mean she changed a few things?"

"Come on, you clever girl," he whispered, finally taking a proper look around.

A few odd changes had been made. His skull was left by the open window, his small knife lying beside it. John's small framed photo of Big Ben had been moved from the desk to the table. The Union Jack pillow on the chair had been turned upside down. The laptop was open with a word document open. Each time he spotted something misplaced or changed, his eyes lit up a bit more. It almost looked like pride, like he was proud of her.

"Oh, I do adore her," Sherlock grinned ever so briefly in his amused tone. Watson's puzzled stare was burning into the back of his head. Sherlock didn't read the message on the laptop just yet. Instead, his attention returned to his best friend. "Look around, John. What do you see?"

"She cleaned up before she left," the simple minded fool sighed while looking around, as if he was sad that he couldn't thank her that very moment. His eyes found Sherlock's irritated glare. Despite his tension filled chest and recently throbbing head, John rolled his eyes knowing what was next. "What do you see?" The third word was emphasized.

"She's left us clues. Come on! Really look around!" Instead of waiting for his friend to catch up, the genius began. "The skull on the windowsill-the open window. It's on the ledge just like my past leaping stunt- danger. Take note of the knife beside it, great danger. Your Big Ben photograph was moved- maybe she likes it there better but, more than likely, she wants us to take note of setting. Maybe she knew she would remain in London. The Union Jack pillow on the chair is upside down- a flag upside down is sometimes the signal of distress. She also left a message." He had been pointing all around the room until then. When he returned to the open laptop, John quickly followed.

EMAIL

"Email?" John muttered, still in awe of the girl's scattered clues. He watched as his flatmate checked his private email account. "She emailed you? You're kidding."

"Quite intelligent, actually. If any of our trouble-seeking friends were to have broken in after she left, they would find a perfectly normal looking flat. But we noticed the changes, things different from how we've seen them every day for years. If they had half a brain they would have erased the word document. They would have seen a message left on paper or on the screen but they don't know I bother having a private email, much less the password- which I just happened to change only last night."

"Brilliant!" John grinned, amazed that Stephanie knew to do all this. "She actually knew she was going to be taken today."

"Not taken," Sherlock heavily breathed, eyes glued to the laptop screen. "She thought they had you."

"Me?"

"It makes perfect sense," the detective growled, putting more facts together. By turning our mobiles off it rose her suspicions. Neither of our phones are ever off so when they are, something is wrong. STUPID!"

"Pardon?!"

"Not you. Her!"

"Stupid? How? She left all those clues. She's already given us some valuable information."

"She didn't take a step back and properly analyze the situation. She assumed you were in trouble, took their word without a second thought, and left immediately."

"Unless she's just choosing to risk her own safety in the place of those she cares about."

"And why would she do that?" Sherlock hissed with a fierce flame in his eyes.

"Sound familiar?" John replied in a soft tone. "…Mr. Stuntman?"

Sherlock growled, knowing his friend was right. He and the girl were more alike than he ever dreamt. Slowly walking towards the window, Sherlock whispered, "But how far is she willing to go?"

"What did the email say?" John asked, breaking Sherlock from his painful thoughts.

"She had received a few texts. The first as a warning. The second claiming to have you. She undoubtedly rang you and you didn't answer because our mobiles had been shut off. That's when she did a bit of cleaning and left all the little clues leading us here. All of the texts were from a private blocked number. Her directions were to take the tube to Stratford station and get into a designated cab. From there, they will take her where she expects to find you. Obviously you are not there and she is the victim, completely alone to be interrogated until we come rescue her."

John let out a stressful sigh.

"Busy night then." Sherlock didn't respond. "Then we're off to Stratford station."

John barely heard it but his infuriated best friend whispered, "Coming, my love."


	29. Sassing Bad Guys

**Hello my lovely readers! I've been sick all week so that has meant lots of updates! All of your reviews, comments, follows, and faves have meant so much! Would love to hear more from everyone, all input appreciated! Just wanted to say thanks for all the love!**

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"I said wake up!" a low nasty voice bellowed.

Her eyes slowly opened. So much for never waking tied up, she thought. She prayed that the results of her foolish actions would be worth the worry and pain that came before victory. For a few seconds, she became very self-conscious of herself, making sure everything was in its proper place. The fact that she hadn't been cuffed yet was a good sign.

"Morning, sweetheart," grinned the grotesque suited hit man.

"I don't think we know eachother well enough for pet names. Do you?" Steph replied in a groggy voice with more spirit than capability.

The man gave a dark chuckle before announcing, "I bet the boss is gonna love you. He likes a girl with a bit of spirit." As he said the last bit, his large hand hovered over her leg and then a dirty large finger quickly stroked her thigh. He was already on her list.

"Let's go," the thug mumbled, no longer amused at her wit. He climbed out then her after him.

Asking where they were going was obviously pointless. The cab was parked behind a large building, their destination. She was lead into the building, down wide dark hallways, and finally to a large empty room much like the one she had been beaten in last time. There was more technology here: wires suspended where the tops of the walls met the ceiling, dark offices with a single computer in each room, and intercom speakers in various corners of the hallways. These weren't the same goons that had captured her last time. Possibly related, but not enough to include them in this particular equation. And, just as last time, there was the typical chair beneath a single hanging light.

"Brilliant," she said beneath her breath. "Not the most creative lot, are you?"

Instead of speaking, the man only gave a small grin. He knew what was coming. She looked behind them in hopes that she could make a run for it. If she could find a place to observe without being seen, she would be more than pleased with herself. Unfortunately, she found nearly six other suited men of all sizes following in their path. There was no hiding today.

"Have a seat," a slimmer man dryly ordered, as if he was bored and didn't want to be there.

She did as told but stated, "You know, if you fine gentleman don't want to go through the trouble of tying me up, I'm perfectly fine sitting here without the ropes and chains." Her heart didn't begin racing until she heard loud footsteps.

"I think a search would be appropriate before we proceed," a tenor voice called out from beyond the circle of light.

They were alone now, her and the bad guys in a higher number than she had expected. This was their territory in which they did as they pleased without second thoughts or morals. But where was John? The sod from the cab grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet, not even trying to be careful with her. Their eyes met for only an instant. She could tell he was grossly cheerful to be the one running his hands along her curves and patting her down. She was disgusted when he had the nerve to unzip and remove her jacket. His rough fingers traced down her spine making her stomach flip with disgust. Only one man was allowed to touch her this way.

Whoever was in charge, the man still hiding in the darkness, took a few steps towards her. The closer he came, the more she could make out his growing smirk and focused stare. The pig was enjoying her being searched far too much, watching the wandering hands of the brute far too closely. By the way his face froze, a memorized expression, Stephanie knew that he longed to be the one touching her. But criminal minds at this level preferred to watch, standing close enough without getting their hands dirty.

Her cab mate gave a single nod of approval. She couldn't show her pleasure but felt a bit more hope. If it was this easy to trick the present leader, this gang was going to be a better dressed version of the previous group of idiotic chaps. Finally, the ringleader took a final step into the light.

Stephanie immediately memorized his features, noticing every detail exactly how Sherlock would. It was crucial for her to think as much like him as possible, now more than ever. If she could think like him, he wouldn't have to waste the time in trying to think like her. It was far more manageable for a woman to rationalize as a man than reversed

"Hello, Mrs. Holmes," the rather creepy man greeted her with a frightening grin.

A cold chill ran through her body at the very sound of the incorrect title. There was something beautiful and strange about being called Sherlock's wife. This man had just lit a strong flame that was stronger than he had bargained for. So this was the man who thought he was going to win. This was the man who had created a seemingly flawless plan of action. This was the man that was going to be wonderfully beaten and placed behind bars. Yet something was off about him.

"That's not my name," she casually replied.

"May as well be," he began, now walking around her. Their eyes met just before he nodded. The brute returned with the handcuffs she had been waiting for. First she struggled against the submission they expected but ceased to do so at the sound of his name. "Sherlock isn't one for sleeping around so you're probably as close as he'll ever come to being married."

The handcuffed victim was getting fiery now. A new fighting light filled her wide determined eyes. The goal wasn't to be free but to still be in decent condition when rescued. If they simply let her go now, they would still be on the streets to come again. And she knew that this needed to be ended sooner rather than later, even if it did cost her a few bruises and cracked ribs.

"Better check your information. Someone is making too many assumptions. Bad information makes for bad business." Fearlessness was the goal. Confident but not cocky. Cocky got pretty young women hurt for life. But she found their concerns about her sex life slightly flattering. A blush even tried to creep across her cheeks just thinking about what her making passionate love to Sherlock would look like. from afar.

"I'm certain of the most relevant information we have." The boss was slightly disgruntled, suddenly questioning the work of his own men.

"Where's John?" she asked, changing the subject since someone was obviously not taking special care to get simple details correct. Already, they were showing weaknesses in the group. Overgrown children, really.

"He's in the best care possible, I assure you."

Maybe it was sarcasm, or him just trying to be passive and charming, but something was wrong. This man held himself too high to be entirely criminal. He was more normal than the others, spoke well, and was intelligent enough. She could actually see him thinking as they conversed, unlike the large brainwashed monkeys.

"There's something different about you," she ventured as he stepped closer. "You're not exactly one of them. You have another job." Steph paused for a moment, making a few last deductions before making her claim. "Something business where you have to be social all day. Maybe a bank?"

He became slightly more tolerable to her eyes when he stopped only a single step away from her. His eyes lit and his amused smile grew. For the first time, the leader genuinely checked her out- she hated being looked up and down as if she were being pictured naked. Again, only one man was allowed to do that.

"You're good. Then again, you'd have to be to keep up with Holmes." The circling began again. "He has it all with you, though, doesn't he? Brains and beauty, I mean. Pity. "

"What do you mean 'pity'?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, _Cassidy_." He hissed the false name. "I heard about that stunt you pulled with your last set of new friends. Clever. But we are much more than they ever hoped to be."

"I need to use the toilet rather badly. And don't tempt me to go here because given the circumstance I will."

Ringleader rolled his eyes, in conflict with himself for a few moments. Another nod was given- this bunch liked the nod, almost comical. She was taken by the same burly man to the next room as the boss ordered him to pay close attention to her. Steph thought about making a joke about sneaking out of a window but her better judgment decided against the smart comment.

"Be quick. And no funny business."

"As if I can do anything in a room with no windows handcuffed. I'm not Houdini, mate," she laughed.

The moment the door closed, she locked it. That was their first mistake- putting the hostage in a room with a lock. Morons. She let a few silent moment pass. Then she moved to the next phase of her plan. Steph quickly dug into her bra, the handcuffs hurting her wrists, and pulled out a small folded sock from one side and a rectangular shaped sock from the other side. From the sock, she pulled out her mobile, a large smile playing on her lips. Clever her.

She dialed his number praying that he would answer. This had to go perfect the first time. One ring. Two. Three.

Sherlock, now in the cab, felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and began to ignore it, more important things on his mind. One buzz. But something sparked his curiosity. A second buzz. His eyes grew wide and his lips parted in brief shock at the sight of her name on his screen. Three buzzes. In lightning speed, he suddenly put it together. She hadn't been checking the time on his phone earlier- she was putting her number in. John jumped at the random swift movements of his flat mate.

"Stephanie!"

"A man about your height and age. Brown thick hair parted to the left side. Tenor voice. Sinister face. I think he works at a bank. We're in the basement of a large business building."

As she spoke in panicked quick statements, Sherlock could hear a loud thumping sound and a deep voice yelling at her.

"Are you hurt?" A very loud bang rang in his ears, a gunshot.

"Not yet. Hurry!"

"What do you think you're doing?" the horrible voice yelled before the connection was lost.

Sherlock let the phone fall from his ear as a shocked John stared in silence. He wasn't about to have the first word, not this time- didn't even want it. After a few moments, the brilliant detective took a deep breath to gather himself- processing something.

His sharp dark eyes looked out the window before whispering, "Sebastian."


	30. Meeting the Man

She had said everything she needed to and felt stronger at the sound of his voice. Her plan had worked. If the rest of her plan failed, the important part had been perfectly executed. The swine was trying to beat down the door.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. She hadn't anticipated any sort of questions of sentiment but she found it sweet and almost romantic. Almost.

The unexpected gunshot took her breath away. Had they really just used a gun to break the lock? She always thought that was only done in films.

"Not yet." The door opened. She only had two seconds left. "Hurry!" Her phone was ripped from her hand as she was lead back to the chair.

"We got a lively one, yeah?" hissed the bulky man with broad shoulders.

"Just determined," she grinned with sarcasm.

He pushed her back into the seat as the under qualified leader took a few steps towards her, a deep frown on his lips, chest popped out, and hands behind his back. The man paused in front of her and simply stared. She wished she could see his secrets, just one would help give her a start.

The first blow against her cheek changed the direction she was looking more than it actually hurt her. But it still caught her off guard and left her breathing hard.

"I thought you said that you _weren't_ Mrs. Holmes," he said with a building voice that climaxed as he slapped her again on the word "weren't".

"I'm not," Steph panted before looking up at him with a triumphant grin. "I'm just more clever than you."

Another slap. This one stinging on her cheeks.

"I won't have a problem completely stripping you of your clothes to do a full search."

"No need. That was my big trick. No more rabbits up my sleeves." He rolled his eyes, not understanding why she wasn't terrified and shaking. "Who are you working for?'

"Pardon?"

"You aren't the man on top," she answered, letting the last "p" pop. "I just pulled a simple stunt like that and you lost all control over the entire situation. Schemes like this take planning far above what you are capable of."

"If only you knew what I had originally wanted to do. Unfortunately, the option went against other plans," he sneered, now agitated from being made a fool of in front of his men.

Then it was time to pull out the unexpected card she had been dying to put on the table since he had first approached her.

"So how long did you know Jim?"

"Jim?"

"I'm assuming he is involved in this some way or another. Or are you high enough on the food-chain to know about him?"

"James Moriarty?" His bewildered eyes only glowed all the more, suddenly enjoying her company exceedingly more than she was enjoying his. "I've heard of him," he laughed.

A door opened from the other side of the room. The light from the next room gave the form a perfect black silhouette. It was incredible to her how cinematic the entrance was. She couldn't help but get a little excited at the arrival of an actual criminal- one with style. The figure was tall and skinny, one leg bending in front of the other with toes pointed to the ground. His arms were folded one second and then they suddenly dropped to his sides.

"Honey, I'm home," the figure sang out melodically with a strange excitement. Almost mad.

All the ceiling lights were turned on, temporarily blinding Stephanie. Little by little, she began to made out features from the bright blur.

"I underestimated you, Sebastian. Good work." He turned to glare at his right hand man. "She's already toyed with you as if you _were a child_," he suddenly screamed. "But she's here," Jim ended in a softer tone.

"Thank you sir," the tenor voice replied with pride, his dignity suddenly restored.

"Ah, the rat," Steph announced as if she was just now putting something together- she loved playing dumb.

Her eyes adjusted when the new figure moved only a few paces closer. His was tall and lean as she had predicted. The short dark brown hair matched his black eyes, burning with vengeance. The whites of his eyes were slightly bloodshot, he'd been up late last night working on final preparations for today. Poised, filthy rich, cunning, and extremely intelligent were little details she noticed right away- the deductions coming almost too quickly for her to process. This was the rush she emjoyed. Yet it was also the one that brought most others to their death. Lastly, he dressed in the most expensive suit she had seen since her arrival to London- with the exception of Mycroft.

"Westwood," she noted with sarcasm. "Very exquisite."

The man glanced to the side with what looked like a blush and let out a silent chuckle. His eyes met hers for the first time but in an evil way that sent shivers down her spine.

"Oh, miss Thomas," he began with a low dopey voice. "If only you had been here for our first little game." The man on top leaned in towards her, too close for comfort. "Maybe if you had been around he would have actually died that day. Or has he told you?"

"I know enough," she bravely answered with confidence. "And he still wouldn't have died that day. He still would have beaten you at your little 'game'…Jim Moriarty."

At the mention of his own name, he gave a playful grin followed by a wink. He looked her up and down as the others had. His tongue slid over his bottom lip, reminding her of every great villain she had ever seen in films. But this was real life. The black eye rose from her chest, up her neck, then finally met her focused stare. From this moment on, if she was the least bit afraid, she couldn't allow herself to show it.

"Girls like you don't belong with the good guy," he gently stated, eyes softening up a bit.

Stephanie knew when a man was trying to charm her. The ignorant sods from uni tried all the time. This was the exact same strategy only executed by someone on a level the uni boys didn't know existed.

"Please," she sighed with an eye roll and a little laugh.

"No, really. He doesn't appreciate you enough. Doesn't let you live up to your potential." Her unimpressed expression turned his way, unknowingly fanning the flames of his ego. "The way he's had you locked up in that flat. He doesn't trust you enough to let you take care of yourself." Jim paused with an alarmingly dashing grin. "It would be different if you were with me."

"I completely agree, James," Steph sang, sounding as if she was genuinely changing her mind. "It would be different with you." She leaned in towards him the way he had done her. "If I was with you… I'd kill myself before your little goons could do it."

His wild grin only grew. Stephanie Thomas had been as calm as the situation allowed. Her heart was beating faster than usual but not trying to pound out of her chest. No one could sense her nerves through her steady breathing pattern- maybe Jim could, maybe. But an icy shiver went throughout her entire body when Moriarty traced her jaw line with a single soft finger. Lust was in his eyes but she didn't know him enough to know how far he would take things. All she knew was that this man was completely mad. His eyes dropped from hers back down to her chest then up again with a smirk.

"How sweet. Wearing dear Sherlock's shirt?" She prayed he didn't notice her reddening cheeks. Why didn't you call your precious Sherlock before coming here?"

"Didn't want to involve him just yet."

"Oh, testing out the solo career? How is that going for you?" He dramatically turned on his heels, spread his arms out wide, and looked up to the ceiling.

His point was made. He probably thought she had gotten herself a great deal in over her head. The one time she tries to be brave and this happens: she gets handcuffed in a chair with thugs all around her and the top criminal mastermind of London tries to persuade her to leave her boyfriend. But he didn't know her. And, if truth be known, he didn't know Sherlock as well as he thought.

"I came here on my own to ease into this little thing. It'll heat up, Sherlock will come, then we're going to shut you down for good." Her high spirited tone was making the thugs a bit nervous, even Sebastian kept silent. "And that will be the end of you." She paused for affect. "For good."

Jim's face turned into that turned on amused face she was starting to hate. She didn't want to get him going. She wanted to make him upset. The back of his hand against her face would have been more welcome than the intense lusty vulture-like stares he continued giving her.

"It really is too bad for him," he began with a sorrowful shrug, hands now buried in the pockets of his trousers.

"What?"

This time, Jim leaned in so close that she could feel his warm breath against the skin around her lips. She couldn't move.

"That he won't get to see that smug little smirk you would have made after being pleased correctly." His words made her chest collapse. Moriarty was thinking of the moment she rarely let herself wonder about. He sent a loud thumping behind her ears and made her head spin as the words were whispered into her ear. "The arrogant virgin and the clever beauty… they'll never get to find out."

While doubt began to cloud her once crystal thoughts, someone hit her over the head from behind. Sudden darkness.


	31. Aching

Back in their flat, Sherlock was fiercely tapping his iPhone, searching large businesses around the Stratford station. John was doing the same on his laptop.

"He picked a fantastic area to hide. Large factories, construction, and flat complexes everywhere," John sighed, tired in advance from the task at hand.

"Yes but Sebastian isn't intelligent enough to be leading this. There has to be someone giving him orders."

"But who?"

Sherlock didn't answer for a moment then stated, "We must think of the connections Sebastian has. Who does he know with large facilities? Perhaps close to his profession?" He paused again, pulling his mobile from his pocket. "Yes, Lestrade, I'm coming over to look at some files on someone. Be there in ten minutes. Have two cups of tea waiting."

Thirteen minutes later, the three men were huddled around a computer searching Sebastain's records.

"Now who is this?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock and John had simply walked in without a sentence of explanation. They weren't supposed to be on the computers anyway but it made the inspector particularly angry when he didn't even know what the data bases were being used for.

When Sherlock didn't answer, John quietly replied, "An old schoolmate of Sherlock's. Kidnapped a friend of ours."

"A friend? Since when did you two start making friends?"

Sherlock paused long enough to give Lestrade an irritated glare then continued pounding on keys.

"Actually," John nervously coughed, "it's a bit more than a friend." How could he say it without making his flat mate upset yet convey the importance to the matter to Greg?

"He kidnapped my girlfriend," the low voice at the computer nearly whispered.

Both John and Lestrade were too shocked to speak. John because it was the first time Sherlock had told anyone he had a girlfriend and Lestrade because Sherlock had a girlfriend. The consulting detective continued as if nothing had been odd about the conversation but the other two took longer to control their disbelief.

"There it is," Holmes muttered, now clicking one of several links tied to the banker's name.

"You know…" Lestrade said with a great deal of hesitance, "when someone goes missing, that_ is_ actually our division."

"The way I see it, you have at least two choices." John tried to stop his friend but only received a silencing glare before Sherlock continued. "You can either keep this one off records and let me do what I do better than you-until the call comes in to arrest those involved-or you can tell me to stay clear and I'll ignore you. Simple enough, don't you think, John?"

"Don't waste my time. My boys have this under control," Greg sneered.

The tall man in the black long coat immediately rose from his chair, turned, and stood toe to toe with Lestrade. His eyes were unusually wild, letting those watching know he meant business.

"Don't waste _my_ time," Holmes hissed with a fierce expression. "Your boys… couldn't even handle Jim Moriarty when you had him in a bloody prison cell."

"Well we know that this isn't Moriarty, don't we?" After all, the criminal was dead, had been for years. It was said after a moment of sheer terror. Greg hated when Sherlock knew he had control. Sometimes talking back was the only way to get the childish man off his ego kick.

"We don't," Sherlock returned. "Not yet."

"But he's dead!" Greg yelled.

"You don't mean… You don't think he's still alive, do you?"

Sherlock turned to his most loyal companion and gave the familiar small silent nod- the one that told John everything he needed to know without a single spoken word.

Lestrade scratched his head, weighing his options, yet he already knew what had to be done.

"You have two days, Sherlock. Two and that is all. Then we take over. That is already breaking protocol and gives you time to work your magic. Three rules." Sherlock didn't even bother looking at the Scotland Yard leader before gathering his pages from the printer. "Rule one is that you be careful, more than usual. Two is keep in contact; something happens, let us know. And three is…"

Rule three wasn't heard. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were already down the hall. Lestrade had time to release a heavy sigh before the two were completely out of sight.

"Sherlock Holmes has a girlfriend," he said to himself, still very curious.

The backseat of the cab returning to Baker Street was silent and had been since leaving Scotland Yard. When the cab pulled up, John paid as Sherlock slid out. They crept up the stairs but Mrs. Hudson heard them as if they had ran up.

"Have you heard anything, boys? Oh, please say you have." She was talking to both of them but staring desperately at Sherlock.

"We only know the name of one person connected with the kidnapping," he replied, almost embarrassed for not having more.

"Just keep to it," said the teary woman. "Sleep and eat when you need to but hurry."

"We're doing everything we can," John assured in a low solemn tone.

She nodded then waved them on upstairs. Once they got up and settled, Sherlock immediately picked up his violin and bow. John knew him well enough to know that he needed to be worried. He also knew that he had never seen Sherlock so-was it possible?-sentimental. The brilliant detective everyone thought was without a heart was aching for the young woman that had brought the best of him out for the world to see. Stephanie Thomas had changed him for the better yet that fact held a power that could prove damaging-making Sherlock worse than before. But when a melody started, it almost brought the good doctor to tears.

It was the most beautifully haunting melody his flat mate had ever composed. Never before had there been such complex runs and harmonies from Sherlock's violin. The tune was high and hopeful before growing dark and bleak. But before the last several chords, the promise of happiness had been restored. As the last note rang out, John found himself speechless. One thought echoed in his mind but he was nervous to say it aloud. Feeling that it needed to be said more for Sherlock than for himself, he took a deep inhale and released it- the words sounding odd even as they came out.

"You're in love."

Sherlock Holmes' eyes flew to his best friend for a fleeting moment. The genius obviously felt exposed, his cheeks a hint more red than before.

He gently placed his violin and bow in their proper place before stating, "We have to find her, John." A heartbreaking pause. "I… have to find her." The detective restored his instrument to its proper place then disappeared.


	32. Torture

When Stephanie's eyes slowly opened, she was in the large room alone. She looked around, expecting someone to be watching from a distance, but there were no shadows, noises, or any other evidence of lurkers. Calling for help wasn't an option. If she tried moving the chair it would make too much noise. Nothing was in her reach to help with the painful handcuffs. The more she looked around, the more frustrated she became. Jim had placed her in the perfect prison where she didn't need anyone to watch her. She couldn't do anything useful. Any attempts of escape was pointless. But her imprisonment was far too cliché to work. Perhaps that was part of his game, driving her absolutely mad.

Just from the few minutes she had spoken with Moriarty, she had him pegged. Creatures like him worked on a different level than nearly everyone else. She knew because she was a similar creature, only she didn't use her intelligence for evil. People like them were various kinds of mad and there were many levels to each type of madness. The question she couldn't help asking herself was how far he was going to go to lash out at Sherlock. Holmes was strong in body, mind, and spirit but she wasn't sure how he would handle someone torturing someone he cared about. He had, after all, thrown a man out his window for handling her aunt too roughly. How much further would he fight for the woman he layed with each night?

"Want to play a game?" the high pitched voice asked, the man unseen.

That's what this all was to him. A game. A game to see who was better between the two prideful men. One that could possibly cost a life or two.

"I thought we were already playing," she called out with her eyes glued forward. Her pretending not to care where he was would bother him.

"You like to multi-task," he announced, as if he knew her personally. Then again, he probably had enough information about her to make several correct deductions. "Besides, _this_ game is between you and I. The larger one is between me and your boyfriend."

Her blood boiled though she couldn't show it.

"What sort of game do you want to play?"

Stephanie could sense his presence long before she caught a glimpse of his shadow coming from behind her. She could judge how close he was from the several lights above them. Given more time and energy she could have figured it out but only her survival skills were working at full capacity for the moment. A pair of lips suddenly grazed the back of her neck, the exact place Sherlock's lips had ravished her only nights ago. While she couldn't move far, she moved her neck to minimize the canvas of skin he was intruding upon.

"A dress up game," he whispered with horrific pleasure.

"I don't play dress up games anymore. Grew out of those quite a while ago," she sassed.

Jim grabbed her neck, slid his body in front of hers, and grinned, "Then I think it's time to refresh your memory."

"If you want a whore, go back to the city," the defensive beauty snapped.

"Oh, but why would I go hunt one of those dime a dozen girls when the real woman is right here."

"You don't want me. I'm a terrible shag," she confessed as if it were true.

"I don't believe that," grinned the sly genius while shaking his head.

"It's true, sadly." She was flirting with a dangerous line. A great deal of nerve and the knowledge of when to use it had always been two of her most useful strengths. The young woman couldn't help a disgusted shiver when he returned to her ear.

"I couldn't find a flaw," he began in a voice lower than before. "Then again," he dramatically whispered, "I was watching from across the street."

"Get away from me!" she barked.

"Not so bold and fearless now, are we? A bit embarrassed that old Jim saw you?" She moved her body as far away from him as the chair would allow but even then she was still too accessible to him. "Now let's get you out of those handcuffs and into something a bit more... comfortable. How about it?"

"I'm perfectly fine as I am right here, handcuffs and all," she bitterly announced.

"As the host, it is my _first priority_ to make you as comfortable as possible."

Steph didn't like the flirty seductive tone he used when saying "first priority" and "as comfortable as possible". Whatever he had in mind was even unthinkable for clever her.

Sherlock paced the living room floor as John accidentally drifted to sleep at the desk, just as they had done many times before. But several things were different this time. _He_ was different this time. As his friend began to snore, the half mad detective silently gathered and organized the many pieces of known information in his mind.

The man sat down at his chair, held both hands palm to palm just under his lips. Maybe it had been five minutes but that was unlikely. When he went to his mind palace, it usually took hours and several of them. It was around five o'clock when his body betrayed him, sending him into a deep yet dreamful sleep which wasted his time. Sleeping did that, spent hours that could be better spent actually doing work. He has always hated sleep. Until recently. Until her.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, waking him up rather suddenly. The text message photo appeared as if it were sent by Stephanie but he knew that her captors had taken her mobile after her clever little stunt. When his eye wandered below the name, his blood froze in his veins. There was a difference between a criminal having "fun" and being incredibly foolish. Whoever had done this was the later.

Sebastian had always looked wonderful on paper but his critical thinking skills were never as sharp as the successful banker let on. He was actually quite average in the common sense department. That was probably what lead him to the disguised life of crime- his weak mind. Now looking back, Sherlock began to question how much his old school mate had to do with their case John labeled "The Blind Banker". Sherlock's mind went from still to overdrive in only seconds. He had been keen on finding the criminals. Now, he was out to kill. He had just enough time to think of five perfectly deserving ways to kill the head criminal behind all of this when another message came in. The text alert literally took his breath away.

-HOW DOES SHE LOOK TO VIRGIN EYES?

Only one mind in London was clever enough to know his greatest kept secret by deductions alone. The mobile was gently placed beside him on the arm of the chair. It was about seven thirty when the text had come in, completely changing whatever plan the genius had created with special care. There was always a game changer, but not always one so significant.

"Please tell me you slept?" a familiar cross voice said from beside him, tearing him away from his complex scheming.

"A bit."

This reply made John nervous because of the whispering tone used by his usually determined best friend. Whispering, in this situation, was a far cry from good.

"I take it you got somewhere last night?"

Sherlock gathered his words before answering this time, not wanting to send his friend into a panic. This sort of news was difficult to give. John Watson had always been there for him but now the consulting detective wasn't sure how much to involve the good doctor with the remainder of the rescue mission. Sherlock's mind briefly raced to that horrible day three years ago.

"They are torturing her, John." He was still whispering, whatever was bothering him obviously cut the seemingly unfeeling man to his very core. There was even a look of genuine disgust on Sherlock's twisted face. It took something truly horrible to disgust the man that had seen all the grit and grime London had to offer.

"You mean… beating her?" John stuttered, unsure of what tone to use while asking such difficult questions.

"Worse," Sherlock sneered, the very thought killing him inside.

"Have they drugged her?" His panic was steadily growing with each tick of his suddenly loud watch.

"Not too badly yet. But that bit is coming," the brilliant half defeated man sighed. Sherlock's eyes closed, the way normal people's do just before they cry, and his head lowered. John Watson's stare couldn't be torn away from the sight.

"What's worse than being beat-"

"They are humiliating her, John," Sherlock growled, now red-faced and enraged. Holmes dramatically pulled himself from the chair and began pacing again- pacing was second best to playing his violin at this early hour of the morning. He swiped the mobile and threw it to John. "Don't get excited. It's from her phone but not from her."

Watson nervously tapped the message icon and saw her name on the top. Ignoring the given text, he tapped into the full message. The photo immediately caught his attention and sent a deep blush to his cheeks. He had seen smut like this in telephone booths and on the walls of the tube stations. But this was extremely personal and gave Sherlock every right to behave in such a livid manner.

She was handcuffed to a chair and looking as if she could cry at any moment. Her tall slender form was clothed in a red lingerie corset trimmed in black, shoulders bare and legs completely naked down to red designer heels. The thick strands of her red hair were tangled and messy, like the mental women from films. Someone had put red lipstick on her but it made the horrible sight appear all the more staged, completely unnatural of the sweet free spirited girl he knew. The kidnappers had even put the beauty in a questionable sitting position that would make even the most faithful man's thoughts stray. That's when he looked away.

"Are you sure this is worse than-"

"We're made of the same material, remember? As much as I hate the idea of any hand causing her physical pain, people like us do not respond well to humiliation- I needn't remind you of specific times." He returned to his seat before he did any damage to the room around him. Throwing something through the window sounded lovely at the moment- a decision he would have regretted later. "Torture of the physical paralyzes for a short time, then you heal. Torture of the mind can cripple someone for life." One last pause. "And that's precisely what James Moriarty does. Cripples the mind."

Sherlock would know.

He had looked away before saying the last bit, unable to watch John's face turn from extremely concerned to afraid. The soldier nearly choked up, his mind now racing. His thoughts went towards the months of therapy Jim had caused him and the pain the evil genius had caused even brilliant Sherlock.

"But I thought he was…" The word wouldn't even slip from his mouth.

"I had hoped so. Yet I should have known," Sherlock yelled to himself, running his hands through his moppy curls in frustration. "If I was clever enough to cheat death, why shouldn't he be?"

"You aren't completely mad. He was… Is."

"There are several definitions of mad. By the end of this, I may very well be one of them.


	33. The Game Is Back On

All sense of time had vanished a couple of hours ago. Her reasoning told her that she had been here for about twelve hours. It felt like extremely early hours of the morning- the hours of her creative peak that were usually spent writing, painting, or some other creative out. It was during these hours she did her best work, both imaginative and purposeful. For whatever reason, her brain chose these few hours to thrive. But for tonight, this one significant night, she wished she could turn the extra boost off like a switch. These hours were wonderful for thinking and creativity but they had also proven quite dangerous in the past. To put it simply, those who had lived with her in the past knew not to attempt conversation with her after 2AM.

"My aren't you looking… hot."

Jim's voice had been high and childish from the whinny first syllable he had uttered in her presence. Since that minute, Stephanie had become intolerable to his games. His trying to deduce her was irritating, full of half truths, and his going into the physical details of her relationship was too far. Now, as she shivered against the metal chair, the usually well-mannered young woman had been pushed far beyond her tolerance level. He walked through the same door he had entered through during their first meeting. Since then, she found herself somewhere between bored of his cliché actions and curious of how mad he actually was- people like this fancied putting on big shows that greatly exaggerated their already eccentric personalities.

"What are the chances of getting me into real clothes?"

"Oh," he acted surprised as he casually closed the distance between them. "Those aren't real? I'm imagining them? Well, in that case…" Jim was acting as if he was going to completely undress her again right there that instant- as if the first time wasn't humiliating enough.

With pride and spirit still mostly intact, the girl replied, "Actually, they aren't real. They are what your little whores probably use when you make them feel worth more than the dirt you wipe off your shinny black multi-hundred dollar shoes. And you know those girls are, in fact, less meaningful to you than that rubbish left on your towels. You feed off of their fear and their hopes of being seen worthy of someone as mighty as yourself."

The mad man bent over until he was only inches away from her face then sighed, "Such a clever girl." He suddenly jabbed her with something, the room becoming a swaying blur of light. "Too bad it's going to be your fault when he dies." The dark fuzzy figure began to walk away but returned to add, "And this time, my pretty dear, he _will_ die."

It was as if he was keeping her in this shocked damaging state to keep her from figuring out what was going on behind the scenes. He knew she was more than capable of seeing beyond the four concrete walls she was being kept in. Her mind working at half speed was his only prayer of beating her and Sherlock. The room faded into darkness as she was left feeling dizzy and almost unconscious. Her choices were helpless sleep or maddening confusion; of the two, sleep would be most useful.

Then next view she could process was laying in his bed, the room dark with a summer breeze sliding through the cracked window. The satin sheets felt wonderful against her naked skin. She sat up and glanced around the room searching for something, or was it someone? Alone with the dim street lights and shadows, Stephanie put her head back onto the pillow, feeling more relaxed and comfortable than she had in days.

Without warning, a pair of warm lips were at her shoulder. At first, she winced, remembering the last unpleasant pair of lips to roam around her neck. Then came a calming deep soft voice, the one she had been longing to hear.

"Just me."

She turned onto her other side to find him propped up on his elbow staring at her. Sherlock's dainty secret grin, the one reserved just for her, was playing on his heart shaped lips. From what she could see, he wasn't wearing a shirt but seemed perfectly comfortable. To make sure he was real she placed a hand gently against his cheek. The presently sentimental man moved his head until his lips could reach and caress her palm.

"I miss you," she nearly cried when his hand took hers.

But she couldn't remember why she was painfully sad. Why did she miss him? He was right next to her. How could she be even slightly melancholy with him at her side in their favorite most intimate little corner of the world? Sherlock brought their hands to his chest, near his heart. His thin chest hair tickled the back of her hand, making him more real to her. Then she felt the steady beating of his heart.

"I'm looking for you, Steph. Everywhere. And I won't stop until I've found you."

She didn't like the urgency in his voice and the sorrowful guilt in his eyes. He was being far too delicate with her, as if she could break at any sudden or rough touches. His feather touches were usually pleasing to her but she couldn't help wanting him pressed against her. When he didn't continue, she felt the need to fill the silent space between them.

"I'm right here," she whispered.

Without another word he pulled her to his chest, exactly as they usually fell asleep. As unreadable thoughts floated through her mind, she couldn't help taking in every detail around her. There was something about the way her head fit perfectly between his upper arm and just under his sharp chin. Their legs tangled together in perfect knots since the limbs were complimentary lengths. His other arm wrapped around her waist and bent in such a way that his hand rested between her lower shoulder blades. When her free arm wrapped around him in similar manner, only more desperate and afraid, a deep sigh escaped him. The feeling sent shivers of longing through her already aching body.

"I'm coming for you, my darling," he vowed with a trembling voice.

His hands slid across her body to her face just before pressing his lips onto hers, hard and determined. A small snarl escaped him as he took a deep breath then came back for more, leaving her completely breathless.

Stephanie was so breathless, so turned on, that she became conscious again. The moment after she remembered the jab and her dysfunctional physical and mental states, she heard Moriarty tell someone that it was time. But all was still black and she could hardly feel her body. There were muffled noises then complete silence. This was the first time she was afraid of the future plans made for her. Somehow, the criminals had made her blind and deaf, leaving her completely defenseless and mostly senseless. It was by far the worst feeling she had ever experienced in her life.

The Baker Street duo were making wonderful progress by ten o'clock. Sherlock had narrowed it down to three buildings. It was 10:07 when his eyes widened, his lips made the familiar "o" shape that John associated with the genius' realization.

"Lloyds TSB," he stated with pride.

"Where?"

"A large bank near the Stratford tube station. The facilities are large and Sebastian would have connections there.

He was going to voice a clever deduction before John grabbed his mobile and grinned, "Let's not waste time. You're clever. No need to prove it this time." He gave a cheeky expression filled with anticipation. "Now let's go get your girlfriend. Shall I phone Lestrade?"

"Good idea. And no, let's keep this as inconspicuous for as long as possible. No need to put more lives in danger than need be."

With that, they were off. To their delight, a cab was quickly hailed. They were across town in minutes after Sherlock slipped a few extra bills to the driver in advance. The cabby was even bold enough to sneak them behind the building. Sherlock was feeling optimistic until he spotted three other cabs parked a few car lengths in front of them. John asked the cab driver to give them a minute but stayed inside, waiting for Sherlock to make a few deductions. Holmes was standing just beside the cab looking all around when the buildings back door opened. There were a few thugs followed by a sight that took his breath away.

Stephanie was being escorted out of the bank by none other than Moriarty himself- Sebastian shouting orders to the several large thugs. She was still wearing the revealing lingerie, an extremely short black leather skirt, and high red pumps trimmed in black lace- a touch Moriarty added just to give Sherlock that extra spark of anger. What was worse than her apparel was the black silk blindfold and the ear plugs. He also noticed how she was struggling to walk the short distance, absurdly pale, and-

Drugged. Humiliated, drugged, blind, and deaf.

Even though several brain waves were sending his body messages to make a move, he felt perplexed and couldn't bring himself out of his odd frozen state. Very rarely did he ever find himself truly shocked. Yet he was shocked, stunned even, for several seconds as the woman he would gladly die for was pushed into the car by his greatest most evil enemy. Once everyone else had disappeared behind dark tinted windows, Moriarty grabbed something from the cab Steph had been shoved into. With a large cunning grin, he pulled out a printed sign that read "TOO SLOW". Holmes' lips snarled just a bit. Jim stared right at Sherlock with the burning eyes the detective remembered from three years ago. The villain's face suddenly grew passive. Sherlock had maintained steady breathing and thought patterns until Moriarty gave a large shrug- as if to say "oh well".

The livid man in the long black coat took a single step. He couldn't hear the dark chuckle of his opponent but knew it had happened. Jim slipped into the cab then the lead car began to roll.

"Quick! Follow them!" Sherlock shouted to the cabby as he jumped inside.

The driver did as he was told and followed the middle car as best as he could through London's first bit of lunch traffic. They weaved left to right, darted red busses, almost ran each light, and continued the fast paced pursuit until Moriarty's car made a wild left turn. Their cab continued forward, growing in speed.

"You missed the turn! I said to follow them! Can't you take simple orders?!" Sherlock hissed from the backseat, nearly standing in the moving vehicle.

The cabby's accent grew thick and more rugged when he replied, "Yeah. I take orders just fine. Matter of fact, the boss told me to take you two for a little ride off route."

"You're joking," John gasped, putting everything together.

Staying in his seat went against all of Sherlock's instincts but causing a wreck would do them no good and would surly draw the attention of officers. This thug was planning to drive them all around London, wasting time and distracting them from the hunt. Sherlock saw traffic just a block ahead.

"Jump at red," he whispered to the angry John. He received a nod of understanding.

When the car began to brake for the red light, the two opened their doors and jumped out of the slow moving cab. Both had to run a few paces so they wouldn't fall or get badly injured during the stunt. Passing cars honked and some cursed the two mad men in the middle of the busy street. They made their way to the sidewalk, both panting and unsure of what to say. When they finally caught most of their breath, John glanced over at his upset and increasingly determined best friend.

"What… just happened?" he asked, not completely sure what to make of what they had seen behind the bank.

After a thoughtful pause, and several deep breaths, Holmes gritted his teeth in rage.

"The cab driver was working for Moriarty the entire time. He knew we would need a ride- a clever way to keep tabs on us. He texted between here and the bank- a warning to prepare the prisoner to be moved."

"Sherlock."

"They drugged her, John," he shouted with a bleeding heart.

"Sherlock."

"She's entirely vulnerable and fully at the mercy of Jim. Now we have to start all over and-"

"SHERLOCK!" The genius fell silent, an impatient stare glaring into the good doctor. "Mycroft just texted me."

John handed the phone over to the clever one.

So the game is back on? Do let me know if I could be of service. -MH


	34. Interogation

"Went wrong? You mean it happened faster than originally planned. No? Then don't bother coming back. In fact, don't bother with any future plans- seeing as you don't have one. A future, I mean."

"What happened?"

"Not now. Someone is waking up again."

Steph tried to keep her eyes motionless but it was no use. The moment his hand cupped her cheek, they opened by instinct. Her sight had returned and she felt almost normal again, almost. What a difference having all senses returned made. Unfortunately, his face was the first thing she saw. While she was still defenseless, she had a new plan- and she was properly clothed again as a plus.

"Evening, Miss Thomas." She remained silent. "Not up for a chat just yet?" The girl still appeared extremely weak and not quite up to par. "It's alright. I'll do all the talking. You aren't much fun when you talk anyway." Jim skipped over to a table and picked up a communication radio of some sort. "Phase two." Once the radio was returned to its original place, the criminal walked towards her once more. "My favorite sniper is following your boyfriend… and his boyfriend."

If he was trying to get a rise from her, he was failing miserably. She didn't like those she cared about being picked on but it was crucial to her new plan that she not speak. A soft moan escaped her as her disoriented movements continued. She squinted every now and then but didn't force her eyes to fully open.

"Poor thing. Still drugged," Jim sighed, as if she were a sick puppy he had been nursing to health. "Her immune system is probably weaker than I predicted. This could be useful."

"What shall we do now?" asked an eager Sebastian, fidgeting with a pastry.

Moriarty noticed her eyeing the small bit of food. He got into her face once more and searched her reddened eyes.

"I bet you're hungry, aren't you? You must be. Going on day two without food. Quite impressive." He took a few steps towards his right hand man, tore off a small piece of the pastry, and dangled the sweet smelling strawberry turnover just in front of her face. "Tell me how Sherlock did it." Her clouded eyes closed as she gave a hard swallow- her stomach aching. "Tell me and you can have it." It was all she could do to look up at him and give a deliberate shake of her head. "No?" A swift blow to her cheek. "How about now?" Her head dropped before she gave another small shake. Another hard blow left her right cheek stinging.

"Spirited isn't she?"

"Shut up," ordered the boss over his shoulder. His attention found her again. "Tell me something or you will wish you never heard the name Sherlock Holmes."

Hearing his name was more difficult than she thought it would be. Moriarty had said it before but this time it made her wonder if she had put too much faith in the brilliant man. Had she become too confident of him too quickly? Had she put him on a pedestal that equaled the immortal height he placed himself? If ever he was as clever as he thought, now was the time to prove it to the world, to her. Oh, how she longed to see him.

Moriarty's mobile buzzed from inside his pocket. He was so close that she could almost feel its vibrations herself. The villain tapped on the screen in a familiar pattern- a text message- then gave an evil grin.

"Ah, beautiful," he whispered in awe. "Here, have a look," he smiled alarmingly with sparkling eyes.

The phone was placed directly in front of her, the bright screen displaying a disturbing sight. Sherlock and John were walking down Baker Street. The photograph was zoomed in a bit but still worried the brave hopeful woman. Jim's thumb slid across the screen as another photo made her imagination race. There was a sniper set up in the second story of the building- right across from Sherlock's livingroom window. This made her eyes grow larger with more fear than before.

Even as she remained as calm as possible, she could no longer assume that all would turn out as planned. All she could do was stick to her own personal plan and hope that Mr. Holmes would figure it all out in time. She was growing impatient, hungry, going a bit mad with worry, and trying her best to keep hope alive.

"Still nothing?" The great Moriarty was actually showing signs of irritation. It was a sight not many had seen so she counted it a small victory. "Are you asking for another jab because we could arrange that immediately."

"A call," Sebastian interrupted with perfect timing. Jim gave a silent moan but took the phone before exiting the room. The taller gargoyle looking man came closer to her, almost looking curious, and whispered, "You're not helping yourself. The more defiant you are, the more likely he is to hurt you. And believe me, you wouldn't survive the sort of abuse he'll eventually put you through. Once he's through with the mind games, you only have a matter of time. Time is running out either way. May as well give yourself a few extra hours."

"Sounds like experience," she answered hoarsely.

"I've seen it before," he chuckled trying to hide the surprise in his voice and on his face. "Talking to him is in your best interest, Mrs. Holmes. Don't try to outsmart Moriarty. It cannot be done."

"Oh," she nearly smiled, "but it already has."

Jim's footsteps were heard before either looked over at him. He hadn't heard her speak or she would have been beaten on the spot. Sebastian was far too weak to rat on her. There was that small part of him that was still... human. The atmosphere became threatening when Jim pulled a pistol from the inside of his dress jacket.

"Alright, my patience is almost up, little Cassidy," he hissed with a calm expression. The man was truly mad. "Here is how this is going to happen. Either you start confirming the information I already have or dear Sherlock will be too late."

They had moved her to a different building, much smaller and less kept. Her eyes flickered somewhere behind him, towards the only door she could see. Lights of some kind seeped in between the concrete floor and the thick metal door. Not a sound was made but her face suddenly lit up with hope.

"He's already here," she whispered with the smallest of grins playing on her pail lips.


	35. Stretched Seconds

She had brought him so high up and now the very thought of her in pain nearly killed him. This was why he had stayed far away from the harmful distraction others called love. Yet it had been the best week of his life. All of his life he had been searching for something, someone, to step foot into his world only to change it all. First is was John, a mind slightly more than average bearing enough humanity for them both. Then came Moriarty, giving him the perfect mystery and giving him many chances to prove his powers of intelligence. But this was so different.

He stared at the screen and couldn't help feeling as if his heart were about to explode- a biological impossibility. The way the sunlight played in her scattered hair. Her eye lashes, nose, and rosy cheeks were all reflections of her inner beauty. How he adored kissing those lips night after night, teasingly and then tenderly. Memories of his lips caressing her collarbone flashed through his mind like a film in slow motion. He could almost hear her soft laugh next to his ear but there would be no touch to accompany the familiar sound he now found irresistible. This was his favorite moment of the day, just before those big green eyes fluttered open for the first of many morning kisses. He would have done anything, anything in the world, to feel her skin next to his that minute. Tired eyes closed involuntarily as Sherlock released a lonely sigh.

"When did you take that?"

John's voice suddenly tore him from his bitter-sweet thoughts.

"The morning I took her around London," whispered the lovesick man. "That perfect morning." After a bitter sigh, the detective added, "I saw them following us even then and didn't do a thing to prevent... What's done is done."

John couldn't shake the feeling that he could help. But he was already helping in every way he knew. Seeing Sherlock like this was odd enough without it being about a woman. Yet this was not just any woman. This wasn't even _the_ woman. This was Sherlock's woman, the one that had won his heart in a single meeting and had changed him in a multitude of ways in just a week. Then this happened. Just as everyone expected. But no one had seen it coming so soon.

"Well, you'd be doing yourself a favor by getting a few hours of sleep. You'll do her no good driving yourself mad before we find her."

"What do you know about going mad?" Sherlock hissed after angrily locking the phone.

John remained silent while his jaw clenched twice. There were many nasty responses he could have made, responses most would have said just to push the brilliant mind over the edge. But John Watson wasn't trying to hurt the rude short tempered detective.

"I know how it feels to think you will never see someone you care about ever again."

There was no need to say anything more. With that, John turned to make his way back to bed.

"John," called the low voice of his best friend. "I'm sorry." Watson turned to find Sherlock close to tears. "I just…"

"I know," answered the good doctor. "It's four in the morning, Sherlock. Try to get some rest."

A few minutes after John disappeared down the dark hall, Sherlock stared at the angelic photo one last time. John was right, he was tired and needed sleep to finish the case properly. If he stayed up tonight, his mind would be more scattered than usual. He needed to be as focused as possible. Time was running out. They had been so close and now had to start all over.

Then, as if lightning had struck his brain, a series of ideas came to mind. Each individual idea seemed to link with the next and they eventually formed a plan- well, part of a plan. He jotted a few notes on a sheet of paper on the desk. The pencil was placed back in its drawer around four thirty. Now exhausted, and a bit more hopeful, Holmes walked to his bedroom with a heart still heavy with worry.

He undressed, still thoughtful, and pulled out a pair of fresh sleep pants from a drawer. His eyes suddenly caught something. The last shirt she had worn to bed, one of his, was still on the floor just as she had left it. He couldn't bring himself to touch it until now. Ever so gently, the once completely unsentimental man put on the suddenly sacred shirt. Her body had been wrapped in this very material hours ago.

John's words played in his head before he made an honest effort to push all thoughts of her away until later in the morning. He climbed under the covers while saying the alphabet backwards, a daft calming technique he used as a child- he hadn't done it to sleep since college. His body twisted and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. But no position was comfortable without her at his side or on his chest.

Sherlock was noticing more and more just how much she had become part of his routine and habits. If she were here he'd be in shorts, if anything at all. After a bit of nightly sweet talk he would have drifted right off to sleep with her somehow tangled in his arms. He took a deep breath but didn't expect the strong scent of her lingering perfume to fill his nose. Eyes closed as tears nearly escaped. At this rate, he was never getting to sleep. It became rather clear that if he was going to rest at all tonight, he'd have to do something foolish.

He was alone so no one would see the embarrassing display. Her pillow was gathered in his arms and tucked beneath his chin as she would have been had she been there. The lump in his throat was becoming impossible to ignore. His head was starting to ache from lack of sleep. And his thoughts were betraying him.

Finally, he closed his eyes tight and whispered, "I must find you." It was nearly whimpered. "I have to find you so I can tell you."

A single tear rolled down his cheek and soaked into the mascara stained threads of her pillowcase.

Mrs. Hudson was up early the next morning knocking on their door. Sherlock tried to force himself awake enough to answer but relaxed when he heard John greet the old woman in a hushed tone. John invited her in and announced that the kettle had just boiled. They had just enough time to take their seats before Mrs. Hudson took a shallow breath.

"Have you…"

"We found her but they were on the move. Moriarty tricked us with a planned cabbie that took us the wrong way then we lost them." John hated seeing the usually cheerful woman so down. "But we're doing all we can. Just give us a few more-"

"Hours or days, John?" She began to tear when he didn't answer. "I know you boys are doing everything in your power to find her. And I've tried not to be a bother until now." A desperate pause. "I just…"

He heard the creaking of John's chair as he stood up to comfort her. Her muffled cries carried down the hall.

"I promise we'll get Stephanie back here as soon as possible and not a moment later." His best friend paused, undoubtedly giving Mrs. Hudson his most genuine stare. "As absurd as it sounds, there might actually be one person who is slightly more concerned than you."

As if on cue, Sherlock entered the livingroom, fully dressed with a heavy heart and an already busy mind. Mrs. Hudson glanced up at him with what he guessed was embarrassment or hope, perhaps a combination. When John left the room to make the tea, Sherlock took his place kneeling at the teary woman's side.

"I give you my word, Mrs. Hudson," he began- the bloody lump from last night returning to his throat. "At present, your niece is in the greatest danger of her life. But when we find her, which will be in the next twenty hours, she will never worry for her life again. I promise."

Her shoulders began to shake a bit from his words. She had seen Sherlock's highs and his many lows but this was by far the most human she had ever witnessed him. His eyes were bloodshot and slightly puffy, as if he'd been crying- impossible. His hand gently vibrated when he sympathetically placed it on her shoulder with a squeeze. Quite frankly, he looked a bloody mess. There was a small chance that John was right.

"I just have to know one thing," the old dear whispered. "My Steph," their eyes met. "Do you love her?"

He answered only by placing a kiss on her pale cheek.

"We'll be back tonight Mrs. Hudson. Please stay inside for one more day and we'll have our girl home before tomorrow."

With that, he and John gathered their things and were out the door. The worried and exhausted woman stayed in John's chair sipping her tea and watching their small television set. But Steph had been in this room and there were traces of here all around. One of her red hairs on the carpet glowing from sunlight, a tube of lipstick on the desk, a pair of her shoes in the corner by the sofa, and a trace of her perfume on Sherlock's purple shirt.


	36. Princesses

The moment they walked out the door a large middle aged Chinese man in scrubs approached them with a kind but worried expression. Sherlock and John were already alert yet neither expected this sort of surprise to early in the busy day ahead.

"Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

London accent. Medical man- surgeon from the looks of his smooth constantly scrubbed hands and dark circles under the eyes. Worked all night and appeared tired. He was second or third generation to live in England.

"Yes, and you are?" There was no time for meaningless chat. Not today. Not from anyone.

"I got this an hour ago," he handed a hardly used iPhone to the detective. "I showed Miss Hooper who told me where to find you."

The photo was of a few lockers. This man had obviously identified the one in question as Molly's work locker. She lead him here knowing that Sherlock would know what to do. A pleased smirk grew on the interested detective's lips. John looked over his shoulder trying to steal a peek. Then the good doctor's eyes found the startling message.

New problem. -JM

"Thank you for your cooperation, doctor," Sherlock grinned, returning the mobile device.

"You are most welcome," the Asian answered with a small bow.

"Are you going back to the hospital?"

"Not for a few hours. In great need of rest," the friendly man sighed, wiping his brow of imaginary sweat.

"Thank you again," John shook the man's hand as Sherlock hailed the next cab that passed.

The helpful Asian began walking towards the main street as the team of two hopped inside. Once settled, John took a deep breath, not sure how to begin or if his friend even wanted to talk about it. The brilliant man had seemed pleased but was surely hiding the terror and anxiety he undoubtedly felt.

"So… Moriarty, texting again."

"A new problem. The first was my being in his way and now my being in a relationship."

"And the locker is Molly's?"

"Yes." John had expected more than a single word.

"So what? We investigate the locker? Shouldn't we tell Lestrade about-"

"Lestrade doesn't need to be bothered with any of this until we need him. Until then, we need every second. His team will only slow us down for now."

They arrived to St. Bart's and immediately found Molly. She wasn't surprised to see them yet something in her expression reminded Sherlock to be extra gentle when dealing with her. The lovesick woman was probably still getting over the fact that Sherlock was dating a beautiful intelligent younger woman.

"Have you been to your locker this morning?"

"No, I was waiting for you. Didn't want to touch anything."

"Good," Sherlock gave her a warm appreciative smile. "Shall we?"

Molly and John followed him to her locker. She turned the dial until the small door swung open, revealing a book. Sherlock took a step towards the locker as Molly moved out of his way, sharing a nervous stare with John. Neither were brave enough to ask questions as Sherlock examined the book.

It was Sleeping Beauty- more fairytales. The stickers on the spine and front cover told him it was a library book. Though the cover was old and faded, the black dragon guarding the castle tower was still taken note of. His thoughts instantly went to Steph, his princess locked in the tower guarded by the most dangerous dragon of all. Holmes found it ironic that an Asian man had been the one used to send the message- Chinese dragon? Was it a planned detail, symbolism, or merely chance? There was never any way of knowing which of Jim's planned details were useful until further in the cases involving the mastermind.

"How long has it been since you've been to the library, John?"

"A cab ride away I'm presuming?"

Sherlock called a few libraries asking if the checked out book was theirs. The British Library was their place. That was so like Moriarty- using somewhere greatly respected and highly populated for part of his scheme. Plenty could go wrong. The two found the children's books and began their search. As they scanned the numbers, they became slightly nervous of what they were going to find. Sherlock's long finger stopped when his eyes found the exact call number they were supposed to be returning. The call numbers were identical but the book on the shelf was completely different from the one in his hand. John remained silent, as he had most of the morning, only following until asked to do otherwise. As always, he had no idea what to do with the given clue so he found it best to let his friend deduce in peace. This seemed similar to their "blind banker" case.

It was a very early edition of The Little Mermaid with a familiar cover picture. His fingers flipped through the small novel's discolored pages, turning yellow on their edges. The title page nearly took his breath away. The author's name had been crossed out with a red felt-tip pen and the dreadful name printed beneath it: Richard Brooks. His mind recalled the original telling of the tale, much darker than the Disney film.

"The Little Mermaid?"

Sherlock's heart began to race with fear- Moriarty's intentions perfectly clear. The very thought made his stomach turn and chest crash against his lungs.

"The film, disregard it." He paused, the words not coming as easily as usual. "The original Danish tale was a lovesick girl who went to a sea witch, left with no voice and a deadly risk. Once she was given legs, she was made to feel as if she was constantly walking on swords, unbearable pain as if she was actually bleeding. If the prince didn't fall in love with and marry her she would never be given a soul and the morning after he married another she would die. In short, the prince marries another, the mermaid heartbroken and prepared to live a soulless life of pain as agreed. Her sisters sell their hair to the witch in exchange of a dagger. If she stabs the prince and lets his blood drop onto her feet, she will become a mermaid and the physical pain will be taken away. She's so in love that…" A sudden thick pause made John feel sick. The story could only end one way. But how was Sherlock's story going to end? "She loves him too much to end his life so she goes to the ocean and becomes living sea foam," another heartbreaking thoughtful silence. "She spares his life for hers."

His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket. The text was sent from Stephanie's phone but signed JM.

"Stephanie will find a way to-"

"I'll meet you upstairs," Sherlock darkly announced just before marching off out of sight.

John released a sorrowful sigh then found the nearest staircase, giving his best friend a bit of needed space.

The text read: Find it? 8 hours to find her. -JM. Now angry and more determined than ever, Sherlock decided to skip the texting chat and get down to business. With trembling hands, he called the number, his heart threatening to beat up into his throat.

"I take it you found my little clue," the insane giddy voice answered.

"Don't give her any ideas. She has eight hours, is that clear?"

"I was just thinking about making our little mermaid a deal… one she can't refuse."

"I have eight hours before her life is further compromised."

"Something _may_ happen. All depends on you, Prince Charming. Oh, and don't think about using your little GPS trick. As of this phone call, both of our phones have no GPS devices. No way for you to cheat and look up our location."

"What makes you think I haven't already?"

There was a sinister silence before the demon's words were sang through his audible smirk, "Because you probably haven't walked five shelves from where you found it."

Sherlock was exactly five rows over from where he began marching away from John.

"Eight hours," Sherlock hissed.

"Seven and fifty-eight minutes."

He cursed after hanging up on the twisted sod. It took a few moments for him to gather himself. He took another look at the book in his hand, the finned young woman who died for love. Then the photo registered. In his many cases the lead him to art museums, he had noticed John Williams' oil painting "A Mermaid" at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. Moriarty had lead him on a similar trail before. The criminal had an appreciation for art to say the very least. Sherlock couldn't help feeling that this was all a waste of time. Surly there was a loophole or part of the case he could simply rationalize through- saving them a bit of legwork and much needed time.

John couldn't see him like this, half mad and completely desperate, not this early in the case. This was only the start. Watson was looking around when Sherlock joined him at the front doors. The soldier's expectant stare dissolved into shock as Sherlock briskly made his way through the doors.

His friend struggled to match the quick pace as he began, "He is going to offer her life for mine. We have eight hours. All useful GPS devices have been taken offline. _Why didn't I think of that?_ We could have traced her mobile just as we did Jennifer Wilson's." Sherlock swore under his breath as John tried to put everything together.

"The pink lady? Could it have been that simple?"

"Not sure. Too late now. BLOODY HELL!" Holmes pulled out his mobile and rapidly tapped the screen- research.

As Sherlock angrily hailed another cab, John nervously asked, "Where to now?"

"We're going to check on a painting. It was just sold to someone across London and I think it may help us."

With that, they ventured across London to find the painting. This was precisely the sort of trail Sherlock found a dreadful but necessary waste of time. Endless possibilities raced through his mind. Yet no thought overpowered the fear of his own mermaid doing something foolish to save him in vain. That would be his Stephanie, giving up her own life for him, satisfied with the few unbelievable days they had shared. But that wasn't enough for him. Not by a long shot.


	37. The Countdown

**Everyone says this but I seriously have the best readers! Thank you all for the "get wells". Yes, feeling much better! Get to sleep in tomorrow. YAY! The case is getting fun now! For those who don't know, this story was already posted on another site so I'm basically uploading and re-editing from the original finished document. Not cranking these out as I post! Hope everyone is enjoying the wild ride! Keep those reviews coming. I love hearing your opinions and guesses at what comes next! Cheers!**

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The next phase of Stephanie's plan had begun right after she woke up for what she hoped was the last time. The drugs were making her slightly tingle even after leaving her system. Lack of peaceful rest was noticed a bit more each hour. And the seconds on Moriarty's ticking leather Prada wrist watch made her aware of the possibility that her man wouldn't make it- not this time. Sherlock had always done the impossible but was this even out of his capabilities?

She had been ignoring Moriarty since she told him that Sherlock was there. His questions, rude comments, mind games, discouraging words, and even the occasional slap were all answered with silent determined stares. They had given up on her for a while, their time better spent elsewhere. Jim and his men were doing everything in their power, just short of actually killing her, to break her strong will. But they had all missed an important detail, even clever Jim.

Steph was in the room completely alone for the first time in almost a day. The light under the door looked as if it was high morning, not quite noon. She had practiced this until she had it right three consecutive times her last morning at Baker Street. Now it was time to put the practice into work. They had tied her in the stereotypical hands cuffed behind her back and feet tied to the front legs of the chair- just as she had practiced.

What Jim Moriarty had failed to notice, or underestimated, were the three bobby-pins just above her right temple. It was risky in this foggy drugged tired state, but if she completely concentrated there was still hope. Three chances. All was silent so she began her tricky task.

She rubbed her head against her shoulder, moving the pins from their tight positions. When the first was loose enough to fall out, she turned her head as far to the right as possible and mentally pictured herself, taking cautious aim. The pin was half way down her straightened curls and holding on by a thin strand. Steph gently nodded her head until the pin fell from her hair, down towards her hand, brushed her pointer finger, then fell onto the floor with a soft pinging sound. Two attempts remaining. The process was repeated until the nodding bit. Steph really tried to imagine what angle the pin would fall and moved her hands accordingly- well, as much as possible. A single nod sent the bobby-pin into her hand.

Pleased, she couldn't help a victorious smile. The pin was moved around inside the handcuff hole. Nerves were taking their now- her body betraying her. She silently cursed as the pin fell from her trembling hands. Last try. Her neck was already a bit sore from the odd movement. A deep breath was taken before the hard nod of her head. Just before she performed the motion, his face came to her mind- the sweet expression he only used when they were alone. Right into her hand.

"Brilliant," she whispered in delight.

The pin was moved around as before but her hands weren't shaking as badly. With deep concentration, she fidgeted with the lock, pressing her hands as deep into the metal as possible for the best possible angle. Her heart nearly fell from her chest when she heard the click and felt the released tension. She grabbed onto the handcuffs before they could fall from her wrist to the ground blowing her cover. The shackles were put next to her feet before she quickly untied simple knots. Moriarty had taken her shoes but she didn't mind going barefoot if it meant a clean escape. The final knot was thrown onto the floor as Stephanie silently rose to her feet.

Three tip-toes. Six steps. Eight deep shaky breaths. She was halfway to the door and already celebrating in her mind when she heard a door open. Running the rest of the way, she made it to the door leading outside. With one final glance behind her back, she triumphantly turned the handle and opened the door.

Just when the warm sunlight hit her face, just as her lungs took in that first breath of fresh air, just as her mind and body relaxed, there stood Jim.

"Leaving so soon?"

She wanted to say something smart about not wanting to overstay her welcome but that would mean breaking her effective silence. He took one step forward as she took three steps backwards.

"I would hate for you to miss your boyfriend- who isn't here yet. Clever you. I didn't think noble women lied." She wasn't so noble nor did she always follow rules- rules were boring. But she didn't speak. "Why don't we get you back to your chair and wait for him. I need to talk to you about something anyways."

A few of his thugs entered the room and tied her as before. Moriarty called them a few names and scolded them for allowing her a near escape. As they replaced the handcuffs and tied more difficult knots, Jim circled her with his hands clasped behind his back.

"That was quite good, you know. So close to freedom," he darkly chuckled behind her. She hated the circling bit. "I hung up with Sherlock just a while ago-used your phone, hope you don't mind-and he asked me not to let you in on my little secret but you know me. Waiting takes ages. He and I know so there's no reason to leave you in the dark." Jim stood directly in front of her for the revealing part of his speech. Closing all space between them, almost nose to nose, he searched her brave tired eyes.

"Do you like fairytales, Miss Thomas?"

Sherlock and John knocked on the large expensive door of the Jones' mansion. A maid, who immediately recognized Sherlock with a blush, assisted them inside to the office of Mrs. Jones. The posh woman entered the room with her nose in the air, more confident than necessary. Her surprise was hidden by an unimpressed expression. Holmes silently deduced her, feeling out how helpful she could be if at all.

"Mr. Holmes the detective and John his faithful blogger."

"That is correct," John gave a quick friendly nod.

"You couldn't possibly have business in my home."

"Actually, we came to look at your mermaid," Sherlock cheekily smirked, more upbeat and giddy than usual.

Minutes later they were standing in front of the multi-thousand dollar painting. It was an original, the very one from the museum, but something was off.

"Montreal doesn't usually sell their prized pieces," Sherlock noted, making the woman uncomfortable.

"Anyone will sell anything for the right price," she laughed.

"But the price was more than money, was it not?"

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock turned on his heels so that he was staring directly down at her, the simple selfish thing wrapped in a horrid shade of yellow-green.

"I mean someone made you purchase this piece. Your home has very general decorations, nothing of specific interest and no themed rooms. Your books on the shelves are all biographies and historic accounts, no fiction- hardly the selection of anyone who fancies fairytales. The painting doesn't match the room- your other rooms are perfectly matched. You have the money and would have changed the room for the arrival of the painting. Someone forced this onto you. If you didn't buy it, there would be great consequences- lives at stake. Am I getting warm, Mrs. Jones?" He had been getting louder and more frustrated as she stood shocked and silent. Her large eyes and dropped jaw confirmed his suspicions. "John, please take Mrs. Jones to the livingroom and keep her there. I'm going to take a closer look."

"Mrs. Jones, if you would be so kind," John grinned, taking the gasping woman by the arm and leading her into the other room.

The detective's mind was working at full capacity. He searched the front of the picture and its frame for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. There was nothing special about the wall it was placed on. An idea struck him then he put on his leather gloves. The large picture was taken off the wall with greatest care and placed on the floor leaning against the wall backwards. His searching gaze found nothing at first. Sherlock used the flash of his iPhone for a more detailed inspection.

"There you are," he whispered, his focus never breaking.

In pencil, so light it was almost invisible, was a code written in Moriarty's hand writing. Jim's letters were becoming more and more familiar. Sherlock deduced the code and felt a chill when a threatening realization hit. He typed the code onto a memo on his phone, hands slightly shaking. The mermaid was returned to her spot on the wall as if she had never been moved.

"Alright, John," he called down the hall. John and Mrs. Jones returned to the room in moments. "Thank you for your help Mrs. Jones." The duo took a few steps towards the front door when Sherlock turned around one last time. "Oh, and fire the maid."

"Louise?"

"Yes," he cheekily smirked. "Your husband is sleeping with her."

"What? Oh my goodness!" The woman nearly fainted as the maid choked on something in the next room.

They made their way out of the house as John asked more than stated, "That was quick."

"A bit obvious. The girl is far too young and not experienced enough to be working for a family like the esteemed Joneses. Her hair was all over the floor and desk mingling with short silver hairs. And Mrs. Jones-"

"I meant the picture," the doctor tried hiding his blush.

Sherlock's bright eyes dimmed along with his pleased expression. His face became grim as a shallow breath was taken. He tapped a few times on the phone and handed it to a curious Watson.

"Familiar?"

The doctor stared in disbelief.

"It's a code number. The same format St. Bart's uses for their toe tags for the deceased. It's-" And then he was up to speed. "So we go to the hospital and find who this tag number belongs to and look them up?"

"Precisely what I was thinking. Well done, John."

They returned to the hospital around 10:30, the countdown at six and a half hours. Sherlock and John's first stop was Molly. They found her in the morgue, appropriate.

"Did you solve it then?" she smiled with high hopes.

"Not quite," John tried to return her friendliness but couldn't even crack a smile in fear of what they were about to find.

"What is this one about then?" Sweet optimistic Molly.

John glanced over at Sherlock before the tall man in the dark trench coat sighed, "It's Stephanie." Molly's eyes grew wide as her mouth dropped a bit. "Don't be alarmed but… Moriarty is back."

"Jim?"

"Yes. Apparently, he faked his own death as well. But that's not the important issue. He's been interested in Stephanie and myself for some time and kidnapped her almost two days ago. We're on a trail of clues now and the latest is a toe tag number. Would you mind helping us?"

At first, she merely stood in shocked silence. The beautiful intelligent girl that had broken Sherlock's vow to never fall in love was being held hostage by the only human being, if you could call him a human, that terrified her. She suddenly felt sorry for Sherlock- he must have been mad with worry. The first time he gives his special attention to someone and then this happens. He was probably-

"We only have about six hours to find her, Molly," Sherlock gently whispered, his pale blue-green eyes pleading with her to hurry.

She nodded, about to tear up, then walked to the nearest computer. Her fingers fluttered over the keyboard until she was in the correct system.

"You said it was a number? The police must have been involved. What was it?"

Sherlock quickly read the string of numbers and letters to her. Three screens and a shared deep breath later, Molly's hands fell to her side- her face suddenly pale. John had been a few steps back until both Molly and Sherlock froze in unusual silence.

"What is it?" Watson walked over to the screen and read the text box, joining the others in a frozen state. "Two names. How can there be two names to one tag? That's impos…" His words faded as he took note of the two names displayed for the single number: Hooper, Molly/Thomas, Stephanie. "What does it mean, Sherlock?"

John and Molly's doe-eyed stares found Holmes at the same time. But their friend was speechless, either in thought or the same immense fear that was pulsing through their veins. A choice was in his near future- one he was already pondering how to avoid. It was difficult for anyone to breath, much less speak, for several seconds.

"John, get Molly to Scotland Yard and tell Lestrade to keep her safe- my orders. If he asks any questions, tell him to text." John put on his jacket as Sherlock's attention turned to a frightened Molly. "Go to the station and stay with Lestrade until this gets sorted. John will come back to help me. If you need anything just tell Lestrade." He paused, hating how pitiful she looked. The poor fool that threatened Steph was going to be sorry enough, but Jim had just threatened two of the three women in Sherlock's life. "I won't let anything happen to you, Molly. Just do as I say and you will be kept safe. Understand?"

She quickly nodded. He placed a hand on her quivering shoulder and gave it a caring squeeze as if to apologize for her being thrown into this. Moriarty must have figured out that Molly had helped plan his faked suicide. He gave John an almost smile then the two left the room, leaving Sherlock alone to think.


	38. The Set-Up

Lestrade was in shock when he saw John escorting Molly into the station. Both looked on edge and a bit pale. But where was Sherlock? He was always in the middle of something like this yet he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was on his way.

"What's going on? Where's Sherlock?" Greg inquired in a gentle yet demanding voice.

"Can we speak to you… In private." The nervous John swallowed hard just thinking how to begin this conversation. Lestrade had only started being their ally again a few months ago. Now this.

The three walked into his office then Molly closed the door behind and pulled the blinds down.

"Top secret then?" the inspector detective chuckled, now completely worried.

"You might want to sit down," John began with a glance towards the silent Molly.

"Out with it." Greg moaned.

"Moriarty is back." The words alone made Lestrade freeze. After a pregnant silence, he continued. "He found out that it IS Moriarty. Our old friend Jim is back and at his old tricks. He threatened Molly so you need to keep an eye on her here at the station. Don't let her out of your sight. Sherlock's orders."

"He doesn't think I'm just going to sit around babysitting while he-"

"No. He assumes you'll be the friend in high places he needs right now. Trust him, and do as he says," John yelled, staring Lestrade in the eyes. "We don't have time for this. Steph is already in danger and we're getting close. Very close. Do as he asks and protect Miss Hooper with your life."

He didn't like it but there was nothing he could do. Greg knew the present situation. Sherlock and Moriarty's first go around was bad enough. It was best to keep round two as private as possible. Now that he knew he could fully trust Sherlock, even if no one else did, his course of action was perfectly clear.

"Go on then," he mumbled, praying this didn't cost him his job. "She'll be safe here. I'll look after her myself."

"Thank you," Molly finally spoke up with grateful eyes.

"Alright, then. Text Sherlock if something comes up and wait for his say so before doing anything. Anything, got it?"

"Yes, yes, now go. Before I change my mind."

John and Molly looked at eachother once more before he ran out of Lestrade's small office.

Watson had been gone all of fifteen seconds before Greg smiled at Molly and asked, "Fancy a cuppa?"

John returned to St. Bart's with a clouded mind. All of this was happening much quicker than events in their previous cases. Yet the very same events also seemed to be creeping by painfully slow. They were making progress but not quick enough. Perhaps their being so close to the victim made the largest difference; since they knew Stephanie personally, they were more aware of the ticking clock that determined her life. Or maybe the tender hearted doctor couldn't bear to see his best friend's heart ripped from his chest. John remembered the way Sherlock behaved after Irene had faked her death- and they were far from an actual relationship. He couldn't even imagine the terrors that awaited them should something happen to Stephanie Thomas.

As he walked in, their Chinese ally greeted him with a warm smile, something peculiar in his hand.

"Hello, again," John half smiled, still too worried to genuinely be pleased to see anyone.

"This was dropped off for Mr. Holmes," the man asked more than stated.

In his hand was a plastic sandwich bag with a scalpel inside, a layer of dried blood on the blade. John hid all traces of fear that welled up inside of him. His stomach flipped once more but he kept composed, eager to show the object in question to the brains of the case.

"Alright. I'll make sure he gets it immediately. Thank you."

The man gave a slight bow with hands pressed together at his chest. There was something about his smirk that didn't settle with Watson. Then again, his mind was probably playing tricks on him from the multiple adrenaline rushes experienced today. The man was probably just pleased to be helping them solve this most pressing case. Yes, that was it.

He glanced at the clock before entering the lab he had left Sherlock in almost an hour ago. It was already noon. They didn't have much time left. Only five hours remained.

"Find anything?" John asked a concentrated Sherlock.

The tall detective was scrunched in a corner of the room, far from his usual place at a telescope or computer. He had gone past technology and had begun his journey of rational logic- a task that only sometimes worked. At first, John wondered if his best friend had even noticed his presence. He could have been in his mind palace but that usually involved arm movement. Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, Sherlock gave a loud defeated sigh.

"Nothing. Is Molly safe?" It wasn't until he glanced up through a curtain of curls that a corner of his lips turned up. "What is that?"

"What?" Sherlock's response had caught John off guard. "Oh, our Asian friend handed me this to give to you."

"Obviously it's for me," Holmes stated flatly while standing and grabbing the bag, eyeing the metal closely through the thin plastic. "Interesting."

He hadn't time to walk over to the row of telescopes before security burst through the door.

"Sherlock Holmes," the largest officer addressed in an unpleasant manner. "We just received word that you were in the hospital labs with a weapon."

"A weapon? Don't be dull. I'm on a case investigating a piece of evidence I just received from one of your surgeons."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to be taken into custody."

"You can't be serious," John half laughed, ready to mouth off to the next sod that spoke.

Two officers took several steps towards Sherlock as the detective rolled his eyes, put the plastic bag on the table, and lifted his hands in surrender- with a great deal of annoyance. Whoever the bag had come from, and he had a pretty good idea, they were being far more clever than he had anticipated. However, this was James Moriarty.

"We don't have time for this, boys," John yelled trying his hardest to remain calm. "A girl's life is at stake and we are on a clock."

"This man is on our clock now," the ring leader half chuckled at the blonde man's attempts to save his friend.

"John, call Lestrade. Tell him to stay with Molly but send for help."

"You're not getting help from anyone Mr. Thrill-seeker."

So they knew about his faked suicide. Well, who didn't, actually. Sherlock's past record had been tainted ever since that day and the employees at the hospital had become a bit edgy around him, to say the very least. He knew what this looked like- the mad man getting into trouble in his medical playground once again. First he had tried to kill himself. Perhaps he would go after someone else in the hospital next- an event the hospital and staff couldn't afford to risk.

Neither John or Sherlock said another word, only worried glances, before the cuffed Holmes was escorted from the lab. The moment the four security guards disappeared with Stephanie's only hope, Watson ran to the phone on the other side of the room.

"Get me Lestrade. NOW!" He waited in anxious silence, beginning to pace as far as the chord would allow. "Someone framed Sherlock at Bart's. Do whatever you can to get him out. But remember, you have to stay with Molly." The enraged Watson hung up before Lestrade could reply.

Five minutes later, John watched Greg walk through the doors of the main lobby.

"What are you doing here? Your orders were to stay with-"

"I don't take 'orders' from civilians," Lestrade barked, using the perfect set of words that would get under the former soldier's skin.

"We told you how important the instructions were," John whispered, afraid of what the consequences could be. If their plan even started to fall apart-exactly how it was now, thanks to Lestrade-Jim would notice.

"This matter should be handled by the proper authorities anyways. I've been breaking rules letting you two continue on your own for this long. The pair of you almost cost me my job once and I won't let it happen again."

While John understood where the inspector was coming from, he couldn't help worrying about the effects of Lestrade's disobedience. Greg immediately picked up on John's inner conflict. The man was obviously in a moral dilemma. He could almost hear John asking himself what Sherlock would do. Unable to keep his selfish demeanor, Lestrade let out a deep sigh.

"Fine. What happened?"

Their eyes met, John's entirely thankful and Greg's ready to hear whatever ridiculous tale he knew was to come.


	39. Cell with an H

The police had moved Sherlock into his own holding cell after he punched his cellmate in the face- the gay actor only lasted seven and a half minutes. That's what he got for coming onto the once famous detective. The flirty ginger should have known better than to ask Sherlock how he had faked his death, interested in the theatric tactics and all. Then his lights were punched out. A broken nose and crushed jaw was his deserved fate.

Now, Sherlock sat on the side of the sorry excuse of a mattress, his elbows on his knees and hands quickly running through his hair. The typical thinking position he always found himself in when everything was almost too much to handle- almost. He just sat there, unable to control anything beyond his own personal hell.

Not only did Moriarty have one up on him, but precious time was being wasted. There was no way John and Lestrade were going to solve this, even if they worked together. Knowing sly Jim as he did, Sherlock couldn't help wondering if he had made Stephanie the offer yet- her chance to save Sherlock by giving her own life. What would she look like in that moment? Would the perfect young woman cringe at the thought of death after a short misunderstood life? No, not his Steph. He could imagine the brave girl offering her life for his without a second thought. A few tears would fall from those green sparkling eyes but not from fear. Knowing that their future plans were suddenly cinders of the flame they shared would stir her more than her own death. James would stare down at her with the most horrible full smile. As the tormented soul imagined the evil scene, he ran over to the corner and vomited. He regretted not grabbing something to eat this morning when thick stomach acid was the only thing to come up. Moriarty had the certainty that Stephanie's death would bring Sherlock pain that would top his own life coming to an end. But Jim wouldn't stop there; he would never stop until the great Sherlock Holmes was finally buried underground.

"What's wrong, Holmesy? Nervous behind bars?"

The small group of officers let out a wave of amused chuckles. If only they knew.

For the first time since childhood he could remember Sherlock closed his eyes, his back towards the snickering men, and said a short prayer.

"I question you're very existence," he whispered, his nose almost touching the wall. "But if you are what everyone says you are," his breathing hitched. "Please." A long pause. "Please, keep her alive. At least give me the chance to save her." His forehead fell onto the wall and he lost all feeling of his body- all but forced to give up.

The officers had begun chatting again when doors opened.

"Inspector detective Lestrade. I'm here for him."

Sherlock's attention darted towards the familiar voice he had never been so glad to hear. Lestrade was flashing his badge to the reluctant mob when a smirk crossed the prisoner's lips.

"Do it!" Greg shouted, obviously loving the authority he had over these guards.

The officer who had mocked Sherlock only seconds ago was the one who walked towards the cell with his tail between his legs. Once the cell was opened, Sherlock had to swallow the perfect comment he had been saving for this exact moment. There was no point in his being returned to the cell- his comment wasn't worth the seconds it would take to utter the words. But judging by the guard's slumped posture, twitchy callused right index finger, the bags beneath his eyes, and breathing patterns he was certain that this guard was a guilty adulterer who had a recently sparked internet porn addiction.

Sherlock paused just before exiting the cell, looked the man in the eyes, and gave him a wink to accompany his victorious grin.

"Get out of here," the man growled. He seemed to be as upset as the released prisoner was pleased.

"Um, and the piece of evidence?" The guard rolled his eyes, officially humiliated in front of his peers, and produced the bag from the desk's top drawer. "Thank you, gents. Now, we'll be on our way," Lestrade announced, far more delighted than he should have been.

As the two walked away, Sherlock asked, "Some friends of yours?" The bag was handed over to Sherlock as soon as his leather gloves were on.

"They went against orders and got me in trouble a while back. That group loves holding people like yourself- citizens usually out of reach or protected."

Lestrade was proud of himself and walked with his chest held high until Sherlock moaned, "Speaking of going against orders, where's Miss Hooper?"

"Oh, don't worry. I've got my best man watching her."

"If Anderson is your best man, I'm afraid I'll have to-"

"No, it's not Anderson. If Anderson was my best man, my team would be in a world of trouble."

They walked out of the building when Sherlock finally asked, "I assume John has you up to speed?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Usually we're the ones who get a call. Any idea who framed you?"

"One guess," Sherlock sighed, not even wanting to think about Jim.

"Well, what now?"

"We go back to Bart's and you stick around while I take a look at exhibit A."

"And you need me for?"

"I need you in the room in case something goes wrong with our evidence. I can't waste another two hours in a cell. Our deadline is quickly approaching."

"And you're worried about her," Lestrade added, doing his best to be delicate.

But Sherlock turned on his heels, stared down at Greg, then hissed, "Not a single word about _her_."

"Alright, sorry. Was just trying to acknowledge what you must be going through. I mean, if someone kidnapped my wife-"

"Exactly which part of my request did you not understand, inspector detective?"

"Fine," Lestrade mumbled.

They hailed a cab and arrived to the hospital on a mission. Sherlock didn't respond to John's warm and relieved greeting. The man of stone simply walked towards a microscope, removed the bag from his coat pocket, threw his coat onto a nearby chair, and began the examination.

A worried John walked over to Lestrade and whispered, "How's he doing?"

"What you see is what you get," Greg muttered, still upset that Sherlock had been cross with him.


	40. Blood Work

He began by taking a sample of the blood on the scalpel. He was handling the equipment a bit rougher than usual. Once the blood was off the blade, he began an identity scan to see who the unfortunate was who had been cut for this horrible purpose. John had accidently fallen asleep in a chair across the room and Greg was outside chatting with nurses to pass the time while keeping an eye on the lab door. This left Sherlock alone to his thoughts and work, giving him the silence and solitude he so desperately needed.

The silent room filled with a fierce yell as Sherlock screamed, "DAMN!"

John quickly rose to his feet, still half asleep, and asked, "What? What did you find?"

An enraged Sherlock knocked multiple stacks of clean Petri dishes off a nearby cart with a single swipe of his arm. After hearing the loud clatter, Lestrade ran into the room just in time to catch a glimpse of the livid Sherlock's contorted face.

"What the bloody h-"

"It's _her_ blood!" He screamed, now beginning to pace. "That bastard cut her and used _her_ blood."

"Moriarty cut Stephanie with… with that?"

"You can't be serious," Lestrade whined, doing his best to hide his shock and disgust.

But Sherlock was in no mood to be second guessed, especially by a friend that was supposedly on his side. All it took was one dagger-like stare to silence the ignorant detective. John took three steps towards his best friend but paused when he realized that he hadn't a speech prepared. There was no use in him going to comfort his high functioning friend if he had nothing to say. Yet that was still is best friend, and he was in the darkest of times. Watson took the final few steps towards the shaking genius and placed a single sympathetic hand on the taller man's shoulder. At first, Sherlock was going to shout something to the unknowing ex-soldier. But John never said a word and Sherlock couldn't contradict an unspoken apology or comment of understanding.

Sherlock's hand slowly covered John's, a silent and rare gesture of thanks.

"We're going to find her, Sherlock. You've _got_ to believe that. Then we're going to bring her home. Moriarty _will_ be behind bars this time tomorrow."

The great detective's eyes began to tear. What would he do without Watson, his best friend in all the world? Holmes' hand fell then he gathered his coat and navy scarf. John followed him through the doors and Lestrade began to follow. The three made it to the hospital's lab exit when Sherlock turned, suddenly nose to nose with Lestrade.

"You are to go back to the station and look after Molly as you were told to do before."

"Fine." Lestrade obviously didn't appreciate the orders but wasn't going to argue.

"Come on, John."

The two almost made it to the exit but John caught a glimpse of their Asian friend. He called Sherlock's name then the detective noticed the foreign man. Questions needed to be answered and now. They backtracked and began running towards the suddenly fearful man. The Asian ran to the staircase, grabbing something in his pocket. When they burst through the door, Sherlock motioned for John to keep silent- listening for footsteps from either above or below. Of course their Chinese dragon would be going towards the roof.

Closer and closer, the gap between them was quickly diminishing. Finally, just two floors from the roof, Sherlock grabbed the man's leg and pulled him down. Without hesitation, the man pulled out some sort of plastic pump and squirted a red substance on Sherlock's white shirt.

"Security! Security! In the staircase. Come quickly!" The dragon smiled, a mad look in his eyes. Greg was already gone so Holmes and Watson were on their own.

"John! Cab! Now!" Sherlock yelled just before the two retreated down the staircase in a full run.

They were outside hailing a cab long before the authorities arrived. Just as the black car pulled off, the Asian and four security guards came running outside. Perfect timing. While slightly relieved, Holmes was still ready for vengeance, ready to kill all who took part in this whole endeavor. Even John remained silent and more worried than before. It wasn't easy for one to walk around London with red smeared over their shirt.

"2-2-1 Baker Street," Sherlock muttered.

"Home? We're going home?" John chuckled in sheer disbelief.

"Yes," Sherlock flatly replied while keeping his eyes forward. "I need a fresh shirt."

"Fine, but do we even know what's on this one?"

"Blood." It whispered but said as a fact, further worrying the good doctor. "You're a doctor. Don't be foolish. You've seen plenty of blood-stained material."

"But is it-"

Sherlock finally turned to his babbling best friend and hissed, "Yes, John. This is her blood. The next step of Moriarty's game. Familiar? Someone find me, report me, I go into custody, then when the blood work returns, guess whose blood is on my shirt? It will look like I-"

"Yes, I see," John interrupted, not wanting to scare the already highly suspicious cab driver. They didn't have the time to bail Sherlock out again. It was now approaching half past three. Only an hour and a half remaining on the clock.

Then a buzzing sound filled the currently silent cab. Sherlock retrieved his phone from his pocket.

"Yes?"

"Just letting you know, someone from your homeless network picked up Molly while I was out," Lestrade explained.

"What? You couldn't possibly have-" He tried to gain composure, taking a deep breath with the phone away from his ear. John watched as his blood hungry best friend placed the phone against his face again. "None of my homeless network is involved in this. I didn't ask anyone to fetch Molly. That was one of Moriarty's men, you idiot!" He paused, a new solution forming. "Do exactly as I say. Do you understand? I'm telling you this once, Lestrade. One time and one time alone. Stay in your office until I tell you to do otherwise. If something happens to Molly, it's on _your_ head." He hung up, his skin more pale than usual.

"This just keeps getting-"

"Yes." The cab pulled up to their home and Sherlock tipped the cabbie generously for his silence. "Not a word of this to anyone. You tell one person, I'll know about it and I'll find you."

The nervous older man nodded multiple times and promised his silence.

John was standing in front of their door in fear, his attention to the ground. Sherlock didn't ask but instead observed the sight on his own. Looking over towards his half mad friend, John contemplated asking one of many questions on the tip of his tongue.

"What does it mean? An egg placed on the edge of our doorstep. _But it doesn't make sense_," he hissed, mocking the conversation he and John would be having if John had been brave enough to ask. "THINK! An egg sitting on a ledge." He glanced over at the still confused Watson. "Humpty Dumpty, John! Sat on a wall? Had a great…" His voice trailed off and eyes widened after a sudden thought- more a realization from the looks of it. "Of course," he whispered, his thoughts now racing at immortal speeds. "St. Bart's."

"St. Bart's?" John repeated, hoping to make better sense of it. When realization finally hit the good doctor, the insight was unfathomable. "A great fall. You think that-"

"They've been there the entire time, in a vacant part of the building keeping silent. Our Asian has been working with them the entire time."

Of course Sherlock would get all that from an egg on their doorstep. Usually a deduction this complicated would be seen as a success but not this time. This time, they both fell silent. Sherlock bent over, picked up the egg, spun it in his fingers for a brief examination, then angrily threw it on the sidewalk. Just as predicted, the egg splattered- unboiled and raw like his emotions. This was Jim's reminder of how delicate the situation was, how quickly Stephanie could be ended, and the power he still held over Sherlock from all those years ago. Sherlock had been the egg that day on the roof of St. Bart's- there on a ledge about to jump to save his friends.

As they went inside, Sherlock ignored the cries and questions of a frantic Mrs. Hudson. John stayed behind to give her a kind lie, so much simpler than the truths they had learned since this morning. Sherlock ran upstairs, threw the horrid shirt in the laundry bin, then locked himself in his room for five minutes.

John waiting in the living room, worried for a variety of reasons. Sherlock rarely mentioned that dark day and avoided the issue at all costs. Moriarty was toying with him, opening old scars then pouring salt in them. Anytime Sherlock was forced to revisit that day, he seemed to go into a short period of depression. The experience alone was traumatizing enough but not even John knew the details of what Sherlock had done the three years he was away. Then there was the matter of Stephanie.

When Sherlock walked down the hall, John immediately picked up on his being calm and collected. The fresh purple shirt and black suit was his armor of choice. He appeared to have a plan but John wouldn't be up to speed until the plan unraveled. Sitting in silence, he awaited his leader's orders.

"Let's go save a princess," Sherlock's attempt of cheery sarcasm became gloomy just before he made his way to the door, John in toe.


	41. Fighting the Dragon

For the first time since that day, he took his first step onto the roof. An eerie feeling surrounded him, the sound of passing cars and busses far below. He knew exactly how far down it was because he had taken that fall- planned it actually. Each deliberate breath, thought, and movement was recalled as Sherlock took his last step onto the building's ledge. There wasn't time enough to stay long but he felt he needed to be reminded. The anger, rage, and pain from that day had returned and possibly doubled. But he had to survive this test as he had the last. And not only was he to walk away alive but also those involved- Stephanie most of all.

London air blew through his hair as the ends of his shoes dangled off the roof's edge. His coattails danced in the summer breeze as that day became more vivid than it had been in the last three years. This was the place he had faced every last one of his demons. And now, revisiting this almost sacred place, he formed the final details of his plan to save the one person on this earth he truly and unconditionally loved. Closing his eyes, he remembered what it was like to fall the multiple stories down to his believed death- the precautions Molly had allowed, the taste of the blood capsules in his mouth, and the look on John's face while standing above his body.

"My story didn't end that day just as it won't today. I am neither angel nor demon." He paused, her smiling face coming to his mind. "And she _will_ live."

"He'll be calling any moment now. Begging for a clue or more time. Sherlock, I mean," Jim grinned walking circles around the still silent Stephanie. "Your boyfriend loves to be dramatic doesn't he? Waiting until the last possible hour and all."

She continued staring into the nothingness of the room she now loathed. He was getting the best of her but she couldn't let him know that. She was also beginning to wonder if her Sherlock was going to pull off the impossible feat. Things were hopeless and only becoming more so every passing minute. Time was also her enemy; seconds seemed more like minutes, minutes like hours, and so on. How long had she been there? Exactly how much longer did Sherlock have before Moriarty's plan went into its final phase?

Jim got into her face for what seemed the hundredth time and whispered in a dark melodic voice, "Doesn't look like he loves you as much as you thought, huh?" She wanted to spit in his face but continued ignoring him. "Such a shame. So young and beautiful to be let down by someone with his reputation. He probably made you feel like you were different. Like you were the only one he wasn't going to let down. Now look at you. Minutes away from your death. No hope in sight."

She gave a hard swallow. How many minutes did she have?

As Jim continued his evil speech, she saw one of his guards silently drop in the shadows of the back of the room. It became a challenge to keep her eyes straight, her peripheral vision in full use.

"You have two choices, beautiful girl." He paused, starting his next slow lap around the chair. "Your life for his. I kill you and he goes free to live the rest of his lonely pathetic life." Jim was in front of her again. "_Or what, Jim_?" he asked, mocking her. "Or… I'm offering you my hand of friendship for the last time." He bent over and whispered into her ear, "We could be so beautiful together."

As he whispered the bitter words, so close she could smell his expensive cologne, a dark figure stepped out of the shadows long enough for her to find her strength. Then the figure silently disappeared into the darkness once more.

For the first time in hours, she spoke. And not only did she speak, but she did so with an unexpected confidence.

"I wouldn't join your lot if it were my only choice. And as for the second choice given, I don't have to worry about that either. There will be no trading my life for his, nor will he be trading his life for mine. You see, poor Jim, we're both going to walk out of this building-wherever we are-and do so very alive."

Jim had to force a smile onto his lips. Her words had filled him with the slightest, but most alarming, doubt. This girl had so much faith in the absent detective?

"And what makes you believe he cares so much for you? You're ordinary. Just like everyone else."

He was nose to nose with her when from the darkness there came a bellowing low, yet familiar, voice.

"Because I do."

They both looked up in unison, he in terror and she in triumphant relief.

"Oh, there you are. I was beginning to wonder-"

"I heard-" Sherlock interrupted. He stepped completely out of the shadows and into the light. Their eyes met only for a second.

"Four forty-five. Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?"

"I'm here before the given time, am I not?"

"I suppose," Moriarty sighed as if he was suddenly indifferent and bored.

"A clever girl like her didn't take your offer?" He continued walking towards them with his hands behind his back.

"No cape?" Jim mused, taking note of Holmes' missing coat. He wore only a suit and didn't even have the usual product in his curly hair. "And you even had time to change your shirt."

"Just me," he answered, slightly nervous but confident. "I solved your little puzzle. Now let her be."

"Actually, there is a surprise guest with us today." Sherlock's stomach knotted. He knew who Moriarty was talking about. "Bring out my other little friend."

One of his still conscious thugs left the room only to return with Molly Hooper, blindfolded and gagged. Her bonds were undone, her sight and ability to speak restored, then she was walked over towards Moriarty. Once Jim stood between the two women, a vicious smirk grew on his face- as if he had already won.

"You know Molly Hooper," he grinned. "The one person I didn't expect you to care about." Looking towards a now worried Stephanie, he asked, "Did you know that Miss Hooper actually helped your boyfriend fake his rather short death?" His attention returned to Sherlock. "I should have had four gunmen that day. Hindsight truly is twenty-twenty, is it not? Things would have been so different had I known." Jim walked towards the frightened Molly then he ran a hand gently across her cheek.

"We only went out a few times but I saw some good in you. You don't have to do this," Molly pleaded.

An odd soft expression crossed Jim's face before he smacked Molly across the cheek he had just caressed seconds ago.

"It was an act to get to _him_, you stupid child," he yelled into her face. "So trusting. So loyal in such short time. You would have waited for him forever wouldn't you? You kept his little secret for so long."

"That's enough!" Stephanie shouted, wanting to tear Moriarty's attention away from the absolutely terrified woman. Her plan worked but also backfired. The mad man slithered towards her and became too close for comfort once more. He sneered in her face before turning to face a seemingly on edge Sherlock.

"One chance. One choice. One woman," Moriarty announced. "The one woman you claim to be your life or the one woman who saved your life? Consider and choose carefully. Boys!"

What few men he had left entered the room from all surrounding doors. Moriarty looked around but felt uneasy at the realization that most of his men were unaccounted for. Sherlock immediately picked up on this.

"You seem to be short of men from what you usually have," he commented, holding back a wide victorious grin.

"Yes. It appears that way, doesn't it? Well, I suppose we'll have to make due," Jim sighed, acting as sinister and mad as ever.

He gave an "oh well" shrug before pulling a gun from inside his dress jacket. His mob took their cue and retrieved all of their guns as their boss had done. Half of them aimed their weapons at Molly's head while the others took aim at Stephanie. Sherlock appeared to be caught off guard, his eyes darting from Stephanie to Molly- the two women who mattered most. He closed his eyes and ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"She saved your life, Sherlock. Do the same for her. You'll be fine without me. I swear it," softly yelled his brave girlfriend.

"No. You love her, Sherlock. You'll never find another woman like her. You'll regret it the rest of your life. Please!" Molly Hooper cried beside the grinning master of crime.

Sherlock's eyes darted between the two women before landing on his arch enemy.

"Only one. The woman you love or the woman you owe?" This was all too easy. If Holmes' saved one he'd never get over losing the other. Whichever woman survived would always live in the dark shadow of the one who died. And that wasn't even the best bit. To end it all, whichever woman lived would have to live her life without the great Sherlock Holmes. Despite which woman was chosen, Sherlock _was_ going to die, and within the next hour- perhaps after some physical and mental torture.

"I couldn't live with one and lose the other. No matter who I choose, I'm damned."

"Oh, very good," Moriarty patronized and praised his enemy for catching the point of his little game.

"So, I'm forced to choose both."

"To die?"

Sherlock only gave a solemn nod, completely sure of his unexpected choice. Neither woman argued or protested. Both simply remained silent, completely trusting this man with their lives.

"Strange solution to your problem," Jim chuckled. "I suppose it makes sense but… Really?"

"Have your men shoot both of them. Have your men shoot just one of them." Sherlock paused. "Have your men shoot _me_," he calmly ordered.

"NO!" The two women cried out together.

Sherlock's hand rose to silence them.

"Shoot me. Kill me off as you've wanted to from the start. The building wasn't enough. You couldn't outsmart me then but it appears you have today."

As the two teary-eyed women cried out, Jim only smiled a devilish grin.

"Kill _you_? And if I refuse?"

"You were going to kill me anyways. Today. Tomorrow. Months or years from now. Why prolong the inevitable?" He paused. "Finally end your _problem_."

"Kill you and do what with your two leading ladies?"

"Kill me and they go free. Just release them before you shoot. My one request," the desperate but collected Holmes begged.

Moriarty thought on this for a while, as if he were actually considering the perfect proposal. The criminal gave a single nod, as if his mind had been made up. Everyone else in the room kept silent, waiting for the dreaded outcome. Then his eyes lit up the dark twisted way they had on the roof just before he supposedly shot himself.

"No deal," he laughed. Jim snapped his fingers then all guns pointed towards Stephanie. "I want to make you suffer, not end your suffering. Killing you would be too kind. Taking you out of the equation now wouldn't be my style."

Steph's brave accepting eyes met those of the man she loved.

"Sherlock Holmes," she began with a voice only slightly wavering. "I lo-"

"No. Not yet," he replied, his voice calm but worried.

"Then when, darling?" She had kept her tears and emotions locked away until now.

Their eyes locked, a most precious of moments. This was their good-bye. The last time they would be together. Her last chance to tell him how she felt and he didn't want to hear it. His words hurt, cutting deep, but she understood his reasoning. Hearing the three words from her now would only make losing her all the more difficult. Something in his eyes changed just before he turned his back towards her. So this was how it ended.

"Shoot her. Have all of your men shoot her," Sherlock moaned in agony, his voice shaking as if he was crying.

"If you say so," Moriarty whispered just loud enough for everyone in the large room to hear. "Gentlemen, take your aim. And…" One last look towards his now defeated opponent. "Fire!"

Molly's crying eyes closed. Stephanie bit her lip and held her head high, not taking her eyes off the head of curls many paces away from her. Sherlock's heart raced and broke all at once. Moriarty waited in anticipation.

The eight guns fired all at once.


	42. Checkmate

Stephanie's eyes involuntarily closed at the thunderous crackling of the eight deadly weapons. But instead of her world fading to black, as she expected, multiple thudding noises came from all around her. Molly Hooper's blood curdling scream forced her eyes back open to find Moriarty's eight hitmen drop lifeless on the concrete floor. But how?

Her eyes flew up to Sherlock, his back still towards them.

Moriarty's stare followed the trail of dead bodies in horror. It was suddenly him against Sherlock and his two pets. His expression of astonishment faded into one of acceptance. Sherlock finally turned towards his enemy with a victorious grin.

"Oh, that is rather good. Clever, clever," the mad man sang.

Holmes began walking towards them then stood his ground, still a few paces away.

"Your men are dead," he announced as a fact with only a hint of pride.

"Yes, but not all were present. I believe you knocked them out. Unless you killed them too, they should be waking up any minute now." The last part was sang in that high animated pitch Sherlock loathed.

"Molly, go outside," Sherlock ordered with assurance that she was now safe.

"Take one more step and you're dead," Moriarty yelled, pointing his gun from Stephanie to the ridiculous Hooper woman.

"No you won't," Sherlock grinned.

"Oh? And why wouldn't I?"

He took a few more steps towards them before explaining, "Because you don't like to get your hands dirty. If you shot anyone with that gun, the bullets could be traced. They'd be traced back to that gun which would be traced back to you."

"I'm more than willing to take that risk right now. I'll get my hands dirty if it means ruining YOU!" he nearly screamed, evidence of panic in his expression and body language.

"That will be a bit difficult won't it?" Sherlock paused, taking the final steps towards James Moriarty. "There are no bullets in your gun," he announced with an arrogant hiss.

"That is a bold statement to be making with your leading ladies at stake."

"If there were bullets in your gun, she would be dead."

Stephanie quickly put together the details of what was going on. From what she could deduce, Sherlock had been quite busy before revealing himself to her in the shadows. Every present hitman of James Moriarty had their weapons fixed to backfire. Since she was tied the entire time, she didn't know when her clever boyfriend had pulled off the stunt but he had all the same. Perhaps the idiots had their guns all laying out on a table begging to be tampered with. Either way, she was impressed. But what was more impressive was Sherlock's knowing Jim well enough to know that there was no threat in the criminal master mind's personal pistol.

Moriarty stared down the man who had finally beaten him. Or had he? He was equally as clever as Sherlock Holmes. This was not the end of his glorious criminal career.

"_This_ gun, however," Sherlock pulled out the same gun Jim recognized from that night at the pool. "This _is_ loaded. And each bullet has your name on it."

Jim starred into the barrel of the gun, his beady eyes shifting in all directions before returning to the black hole that held his fate. It seemed as if he had lost but he wasn't going to give this genius the satisfaction of an easy victory. Not when the scoreboard was tied.

Sherlock moved his left hand before his gun clicked, now set to take the shot.

"Molly, get outside. Now!" A tearful Molly did as she was told.

As if on cue, many sirens could be heard- growing louder and louder.

"Called your officer friends for back up, ay? I thought that was against the rules," Jim muttered, his anger growing in his face.

The moment Molly was out of the door, John Watson burst through holding a gun of his own. His aim immediately fell onto Jim.

"They're in here!" he shouted as a large group of police could be heard just behind him. All guns pointed towards an unarmed Moriarty. His hands slowly raised above his head as he cursed under his breath.

Sherlock ran to a flustered Stephanie. Their eyes met briefly before he untied her. He took a small tool from his jacket and unlocked her handcuffs. The clicking sound meant freedom to the exhausted and starved woman. Her first instinct was to grab her savior and kiss him with all the gratitude and thanks he deserved. But now wasn't the time for that.

Nearly fifty London officers closed in on James as Sherlock rose to his feet. He was the one to grab her in a tender embrace of relief. She released a sigh against his neck as her body nearly collapsed from the stress and strain of being held prisoner for so long. Now that he had saved her, she found herself a bit more relaxed but completely exhausted. Her long-lived adrenaline rush was coming to a quick end.

Her hero removed his trembling arms from around her and whispered, "Your aunt is in a cab outside. Go directly to her and stay put. I'll be home later." The last bit was more of a promise, assuring her that this would all be over in just a few more hours.

"I'm not leaving you," she argued, not wanting to leave his side or be left for hours without any word from or of him.

"Go," he ordered, his eyes begging her not to waste another moment.

Steph nodded in reluctant agreement. Before she could turn to run out of the door John had entered, Sherlock took her hand and quickly pressed it to his lips. The sweet gesture wasn't long but long enough for her to read his unspoken words of safety and assertion that this nightmare was almost over. He released her hand then she jogged a few paces away from him. John beat her to the door to usher her out to her cab.

"And Steph," the girl turned at his voice. "Stay away from media. This may get advertised and you have no need to worry."

She gave him another nod of understanding, already knowing this particular command would be ignored. The distance between her and John closed as the ex soldier pulled her into a staircase. The door closed just as the room's other doors opened. The rest of Moriarty's men came in screaming and howling, ready to kill anyone in their way.

Steph's body began to turn just before John grabbed her waist and instructed, "No. You're coming outside then going home with your aunt. Stay inside and please be reasonable. He'll be alright. I'll protect him, I promise. Soldier's honor." He was in full military mode now. She had seen the doctor but not the soldier side of John Watson, until now.

"Alright," was all she could off in return.

They ran up the stairs then through the lobby. Their jogging didn't become a walk until they were close to the cab, emergency and police vehicles lit the streets around St. Bart's. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the sunlight, multiple days in dark rooms made sunlight almost painful at first sight. Everywhere she looked there were endless lights and sirens filled the air. John opened the door and threw her in all in one fluid movement.

"Steph!" Mrs. Hudson cried, grabbing her niece to pull her close. "Thank God! I thought the worst."

"I'm alright," the brave girl promised. They hugged a while before she looked towards the curious cabby. "2-2-1 Baker Street, please."

As they pulled away, her only thoughts were of the safety of her two main rescuers. If anything happened to either of them, she wasn't sure what she would do.

They walked into Mrs. Hudson's flat and Stephanie immediately ran to the television. The old woman frowned while putting her purse and keys on the kitchen table.

"Sherlock told me not to let you watch or listen to any news of any sort," she said as if she wasn't sure what to do. Of course the intelligent girl wanted to know what was going on. She had everything to do with the reports and the life of her boyfriend was at stake.

"Try and stop me," the wide eyed woman hissed, eager for any word at all.

"Do you think you could eat?"

"Yes. Starved," Steph answered, her eyes glued to the screen as she flipped through channels in search of local news.

"I thought you might be," Hudson sighed, a mixture of emotions filling her. She found avoiding questions or extra comments best to keep to herself for now. If Steph wanted to talk later, she would be more than willing to listen. But for now, the girl needed fed, rest, and some time to catch her breath. God only knew what horrors the poor thing had been through.

"Breaking news!" a woman at a desk announced. "A criminal arrest is being attempted at St. Bartholomew right now. Officials are keeping information to a minimum but what little we know will be shared. Three days ago, a young female was kidnapped by James Moriarty- a criminal thought to be dead until just minutes ago. Sherlock Holmes was put on the case and found the young female imprisoned in a vacant portion of the building's basement. Scotland Yard went in to arrest the famous criminal when a mob Moriarty's men unexpectedly joined the brawl. All streets around the area have been closed until the criminals are in custody. Officials say the young woman has been taken home and her identity will not be revealed at this time. Holmes and the army of officers are still down in the hospital's basement now."

The telly screen suddenly went black. Steph spun her head around to find her aunt holding the remote.

"Oy!"

"I think Sherlock is right, dear. You don't need to be watching all of that. Those boys know what they are doing."

"Yes, and the last time Sherlock was with Moriarty they both faked their suicides. No worries at all," the girl argued and reasoned with sarcasm. Before her aunt could protest, Steph pressed the manual power button on the telly, just in time for regular programming to return. "Bollocks!" the girl moaned, slightly angry with her aunt.

"It'll come back when they get more information," the worried landlady sighed. "Until then, come in here and drink something. You're probably just as dry as you are empty."

Steph shuffled into the kitchen, keeping her ears focused on the telly. She didn't realize how hungry she was until the plate of warm food was placed in front of her. Very rarely did she have seconds but today she asked for a third helping. Once her food was gone and belly full, the girl laid on the sofa with her full attention still on the telly. It was only a matter of minutes before she fell asleep. But her last conscious thoughts were a prayer for the return of her brave and clever knight in shining armor. His face was the last image her mind allowed before exhaustion overcame her.


	43. Lovers

Never before had Sherlock and John come so close to death on one of their cases. Only that single time at the pool with Moriarty compared. While in the cab, not even John could find or form words.

Sherlock was more than thankful that Stephanie got out just before the rest of Jim's mob attacked the army of officers. Many officers had been shot- there was no way he could fix all of their guns the way he had the eight. Just when the criminal's mob were being arrested and put to a sudden end with bullets, Sherlock caught Jim crouched at the side of one of his fallen men. Jim took the gun from his deceased employee's hand and began to point it towards the now unarmed Sherlock. Just in time, as was done before, John Watson shot the criminal mastermind just before Sherlock was put to his own end. The two best friends shared a glance that strengthened their bond all the more.

James Moriarty was finally, and officially, dead.

Each man was in his own thoughts until the cab stopped at 221B Baker Street, a sight Sherlock had never been more glad to see. This entirely foreign world of sentiment was still so new and unpredictable. Thousands of times had he seen the black door with gold numbers but this time, the scene had never meant so much. This morning could have easily been the last time he set foot here in the place he knew as home. John began to grab the handle of the cab door when Sherlock cleared his throat, obviously about to say something difficult.

They were interrupted when a shy Sarah walked towards the cab, she had been waiting on the step outside. John opened the cab door, still nervous from their case and now nervous at the sight of his old girlfriend- the one he had been most fond of.

"Sorry, you two are probably just returning from one of your adventures," she squeaked. John looked towards Sherlock with a small smile- "adventure"? What they had just experienced was far from an adventure. "John, I was thinking about you today-actually, I think of you quite often-and…"

"Sarah," John whispered her name, partly in understanding but mostly moved that someone still cared, someone he couldn't deny thinking about from time to time.

"Perhaps you would like to spend this evening with someone else?"

"Will you be alright?" Momentarily returning to his old self, Sherlock looked at his friend with the expression he so often used when something was completely obvious. "Of course you will," John attempted a smile. "Will you be…?"

"Tonight we almost died, John. We are fortunate to be alive at present and I want to enjoy these strange and humiliating feelings while they are here. And I'm sure you would rather experience them as well with someone other than your flat mate. We'll be back on a new case tomorrow morning. By then,_ this_ will have worn off."

Chuckling at Sherlock still being torn between his old and new self, John nodded. "Goodnight then."

Sherlock quickly handed John a bit of money for the cabby before he and Sarah took off. The car drove off and the man who recently found a fraction of a beating heart inside of his chest simply stared at the building with deep but brief emotive feelings and thoughts he had never imagined. It was then he noticed his bedroom light was still on. Stephanie usually went to bed at least two hours ago- even when she waited up. But tonight wasn't like any other night they had spent together. He could feel it already.

Just the thought of her waiting for him in his bed under his covers wearing one of his rshirts brought on the strong urge he had anticipated the entire cab ride home. She had made it perfectly clear not so long ago that she needed him. He understood most of her reasons, their being so much alike and understanding eachother for starters. But only tonight did he realize exactly how deeply he needed her in his own life. In what should have been his last hopeless moments, his thoughts somehow drifted to his red haired bright eyed angel.

He opened the door, and walked in with a pounding heart. The hairs suddenly stood on his neck sending strange shivers throughout his arms and shoulders. Walking as quickly and quietly as possible, he removed his scarf and coat. The door was locked, but then again it would be. After unlocking the door, he briskly walked through the living room. He threw the scarf and coat onto the couch, not even bothering to hang them anywhere- that would waste too much precious time.

Almost sprinting down the hall, he stopped at his closed bedroom door. He could hear the low static and fuzzy orders from a police scanner. His one hope was that she didn't hear all that had happened this afternoon and especially tonight. Then again, small bits and portions of the day's activities had surely made its way onto the evening news. His clever girl undoubtedly put everything together immediately.

Anxiously, his hand grabbed and turned the door knob as the scanner fell silent. The door opened and his heart nearly leapt from his chest. Standing on her knees in the middle of his bed in her favorite of his sleepshirts, Stephanie was silent with her mobile phone in hand wearing an expression that could only be defined as relief.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you ever send me away like that again I will bloody kill you," she proclaimed with misty eyes full of love and concern.

"We did it," he replied with odd assurance flowing from his mouth as he moved to the bedside as quick as possible. "He's dead."

Still standing on her knees, she met him at the edge of the mattress. Their bodies collided with urgency that couldn't be calmed tonight. Arms wrapped around the other, lips met with fiery passion neither had ever known, and neither could ever remember feeling more alive. It wasn't until one of their lives was truly at stake that they realized just how deep, how true, their love was. A similar situation was exactly what had made their feelings undeniable and the same type of situation had killed the few remaining doubts.

There was no conversation or permission; they hungrily continued without reserve. They were two stars colliding, no force strong enough to control or separate them. She pulled at the buttons of his purple dress shirt until it slid down his broad shoulders. At the first moment possible, his hands found her knees while their lips remained inseparable. Sherlock slid his fingers lightly up her thighs, and finally found the hem of her unwanted shirt. Breathing heavily, she released his neck from her hands long enough for him to remove the soft material from her body. He had never seen her so exposed, wonderfully naked, and the sight was breathtaking- his blue green eyes widening to take all of her in for the first time.

He winced when she lifted his white undershirt. A sharp painful noise escaped from his wet lips, already swollen from her sucking on them. After searching his torso for a few seconds, she found the large bruise and traces of dried blood above his ribs.

"What the devil?" she gasped in shock, motherly instincts magically appearing.

Steph traced around his wound with featherlike fingers as Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on her. Her mind raced with possibilities of how he got hurt- a fight no doubt. And from the looks of it, he was outnumbered. Taking a closer look at him, searching for more clues, she noticed the blood stained skin around his nose. More tiny bruises suddenly made themselves visible, making her wonder how he wasn't in greater pain. After taking her colorless face into his large hands, Sherlock forced her to meet his stare.

"Don't do this to yourself," he nearly begged. "It looks much worse than it feels." Her apologetic eyes didn't believe him. "Really."

"This is my fault." He could feel her body start to tremble. "This all happened because of me."

"Yes," he blurted with indifference before his shocked girlfriend could utter another word. Then an expression grew on his face- one she had seen on him only in their most private moments. But never as genuine as now.

Not another second was wasted before she retrieved his mouth with deep longing and lustful kisses. Their lips only parted long enough for her to carefully pull his undershirt over his perfect mop of curls. She found his small belt buckle, pulling it so their hips sensually crashed together, filling them with a new waves of desperate desire.

The moment his trousers fell to the floor, Sherlock fell on top of her. His large hand held her small head, soft red strands falling from between his fingers. Stephanie started to raise her torso, to close the new distance between them, but Sherlock lovingly put his hand to her chest and gently pushed her back onto the mattress. At first, she thought he was teasing her so she made a second attempt to rise up to meet his hovering body.

"Lay still," he slightly smiled, amused at her beautiful impatience, with eyes framed by messy thick curls. "Let me take you in." Their lover's stare was so intense that it alone sent a wave of unknown pleasure. It was going to happen tonight. Now.

She had never seen him like this, so nervous but controlled, focused and afraid, patient but so anxious all at once. Stephanie wished she could take back the few times she had been with the man she barely cared about. The act had been expected and executed without her input those few times. It wasn't often wanted but she made no efforts to stop what was being done- after all, that was the foundation of a relationship. Or so she wrongly thought. She longed to take back those times and replace them with what was about to be done here and now. This should have been her first time as well as his. They should have experienced this together. All of these thoughts came and faded in moments.

Looking up at him, she saw the one that held her heart as no other ever had. He was beautiful. The curls that framed his sharp pale features slightly bounced as his hidden nerves silently began to take over- not that he would even vaguely show his unfamiliar anxiety. Those blue eyes sparkled and the small brown spot in the iris of his right eye captured her brief attention. Heart shaped lips beckoned and mocked her while she was lightly being held down. The perfect cheekbones completed his handsome face with a rugged but exquisite charm. Strong arms and his shaped stomach softly dipped down against hers- such a small dose of contact driving her mad.

"I'm not doing this merely as some romantic gesture." He finally spoke. "When I thought I was going to die tonight, my one true regret was not being able to spend more time with you." He paused. This next bit was unfathomable to even him but now was the most appropriate time to say the once insufferable words.

"I… love you, Steph," he softly and melodically confessed in his special deep rich tone.

"Don't you mean Cassidy," the beautiful girl nearly giggled with a blissful and sarcastic expression.

"I should have known you would have some clever or smug reply," he groaned, adoringly rolling his eyes. "The first time I tell a woman I love her and she makes a joke of it."

Though he acted put out by her playful comment, she knew better. "You wouldn't want me any other way, Sherlock Holmes," she stated in a soft, almost cocky, manner.

"Immature?" he teased as if he were actually annoyed with her.

"In love," she cooed. Catching him off his guard, she pulled him down to her.

Her fingers wrapped around his hair as the room and all its scientific trappings disappeared. Nothing remained except him.

Just before they became one, she whispered, "I love you, Sherlock." A brief, sweet, pause. "I love you."

-

Hours later, it was their third time resting to regain strength from long sessions of making love. Holding her in his arms, he played with the strands of hair just above her neck. Naked bodies entwined under damp sheets and bright moonlight. The room had been silent for countless minutes as they caught their breathe and simply enjoyed the moment. Both were particularly and most unusually relaxed and happier than they knew possible. Neither had ever allowed themselves to truly feel, much less love, until their two worlds combined.

She drew lazy circles lightly on his chest with her finger, the world suddenly perfect. Remaining silent, Sherlock's mind was filled with all sorts of new thoughts, ideas and fresh theories flooding his usually sensible process. But nothing was how it had always been. This woman had officially turned everything about his world upside down. He had said it before- love was a dangerous distraction.

But with Stephanie Thomas, the danger was more than worth the minor distractions during the day. He had finally found someone who understood and appreciated him for him- not as the famous detective but as the secretly insecure and lonely high functioning sociopath. And she loved every piece of him, difficult parts and all. Little did he know that his thoughts echoed hers.

"This is so strange," he finally spoke.

"Which part are you referring to?" Snuggling closer, Steph was shocked and thankful for his being open after such a life changing day.

"I never knew I was mentally able to feel like this. After having such a bleak outlook on all of this rubbish, it's strange to experience it all from the opposing side. And with someone like you."

After a short smile, she felt as if light was actually radiating from her skin. She couldn't have shined brighter if she had been a star.

"I know precisely how you feel."

"Do you?" he asked, moving around to face her.

When they were finally situated, he was almost leaning back against the bed's headboard with her laying on his chest, her small chin resting on her soft crossed arms. Her eyes peeked up at him from under thick messy bangs.

"This is new to me as well, remember," she sighed. "Being in a proclaimed relationship and being in love are very different." Thinking of a better way to explain it, she couldn't help using his never satisfied flatmate. "Take John, for instance."

"No, don't use John," Sherlock growled, already disapproving of her analogy. He already had enough trouble imagining what went on in John's relationships. Now she was comparing.

"Give me a chance," she half giggled, knowing that he was acting more put off than he actually was. "John Watson has had how many girlfriends since the two of you moved in together?" The rolling of his eyes was answer enough. "And how many of these girls has he been truly devoted to? And by devoted I mean really mad about- he'd do anything for them."

"Your point has been made," Sherlock sighed, wanting the conversation to move on, away from John's ridiculous irrelevant love life.

"He envies us. He loves us both dearly but he still wishes it had been him to find 'true love' first. He's been looking for it for years and we, two people who detest the very thought of sentiment, just happened to find it."

"Well, of course he's jealous," Sherlock devilishly grinned. "Look who's holding you."

She barely had time enough to blush before the next round of love making began. This was their last and most relaxed try of the night. Each had learned to trust and let the other inside in a way unknown to either. Some married couples hadn't found the bizarre precious experience, of truly giving all of one's heart to another, as they had tonight. The two fell asleep after a few last sweet tender kisses. Though it was late, it had been well worth it. This new world, though unnatural, was changing their whole perception of life. The overly emotionless lives they had known until a few days ago were making less sense. How had they not known this way of living until now? How had no one else broken the spell before? Each of them had a few opportunities of relationships but love had never been a need as it was now. They needed eachother and no one else would do. No one else came remotely close.


	44. Lovers (M version)

Never before had Sherlock and John come so close to death on one of their cases. Only that single time at the pool with Moriarty compared. While in the cab, not even John could find or form words.

Sherlock was more than thankful that Stephanie got out just before the rest of Jim's mob attacked the army of officers. Many officers had been shot- there was no way he could fix all of their guns the way he had the eight. Just when the criminal's mob were being arrested and put to a sudden end with bullets, Sherlock caught Jim crouched at the side of one of his fallen men. Jim took the gun from his deceased employee's hand and began to point it towards the unarmed Sherlock. Just in time, as was done before, John Watson shot the criminal mastermind just before Sherlock was put to his own end. The two best friends shared a glance that strengthened their bond all the more.

James Moriarty was finally, and officially, dead.

Each man was in his own thoughts until the cab stopped at 221B Baker Street, a sight Sherlock had never been more glad to see. This entirely foreign world of sentiment was still so new and unpredictable. Thousands of times had he seen the black door with gold numbers but this time the scene had never meant so much. This morning could have easily been the last time he set foot here in the place he knew as home. John began to grab the handle of the cab door when Sherlock cleared his throat, clearly about to say something difficult.

They were interrupted when a shy Sarah walked towards the cab, she had been waiting on their doorstep. John opened the cab door, still nervous from their case and now nervous at the sight of his old girlfriend- the one he had been most fond of.

"Sorry, you two are probably just returning from one of your adventures," she squeaked. John looked towards Sherlock with a small smile- "adventure"? What they had just experienced was far from an adventure. "John, I was thinking about you today-actually, I think of you quite often-and…"

"Sarah," John whispered her name, partly in understanding but mostly moved that someone still cared, someone he couldn't deny thinking about from time to time.

"Perhaps you would like to spend this evening with someone else?" Sherlock hinted, finding no need for any long speeches directly in front of the bold woman.

"Will you be alright?" Momentarily returning to his old self, Sherlock looked at his friend with the expression he so often used when something was completely obvious. "Of course you will," John attempted a smile. "Will you be…?"

"Tonight we almost died, John. We are fortunate to be alive at present and I want to enjoy these strange and humiliating feelings while they are here. And I'm sure you would rather spend some time with someone other than your flat mate. We'll be back on a new case soon enough. By then, this will have worn off for me."

Chuckling at Sherlock still being torn between his old and new self, John nodded. "Goodnight then."

Sherlock quickly handed John a bit of money for the cabby before he and Sarah took off. The car drove off and the man who recently found a fraction of a beating heart inside of his chest simply stared at his building with deep but brief emotive feelings and thoughts he had never imagined. It was then he noticed his bedroom light was still on. Stephanie usually went to bed at least two hours ago- even when she waited up. But tonight wasn't like any other night they had spent together. He could feel it already.

Just the thought of her waiting for him in his bed under his covers wearing one of his shirts brought on the strong urge he had anticipated the entire cab ride home. She had made it perfectly clear not so long ago that she needed him. He understood most of her reasons, their being so much alike and understanding eachother for starters. But only tonight did he realize exactly how deeply he needed her in his own life. In what should have been his last hopeless moments, his thoughts had somehow drifted to his red haired bright eyed angel.

He opened the door, and walked in with a pounding heart. The hairs suddenly stood on his neck sending strange shivers throughout his arms and shoulders. Walking as quickly and quietly as possible, he removed his scarf and coat. The door was locked, but then again it would be. After unlocking it, he briskly walked through the living room. He threw the scarf and coat onto the couch, not even bothering to hang them anywhere- that would waste too much precious time. Almost sprinting down the hall, he stopped at his closed bedroom door. He could hear the low static and fuzzy orders from a police scanner. His one hope was that she didn't hear all that had happened this afternoon and especially tonight. Then again, small bits and portions of the day's activities had surely made its way onto the evening news. His clever girl undoubtedly put everything together immediately.

Anxiously, his hand grabbed and turned the door knob as the scanner fell silent. The door opened and his heart nearly leapt from his chest. Standing on her knees in the middle of his bed in her favorite of his shirts, Stephanie was silent with her mobile phone in hand wearing an expression that could only be defined as relief.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you ever send me away like that again I will bloody kill you," she proclaimed, quite angry, with eyes full of concern and love.

"We did it," he replied with odd assurance flowing from his mouth as he moved to the bedside as quickly as possible. "He's dead."

Still standing on her knees, she met him at the edge of the mattress. Their bodies collided with urgency that couldn't be calmed tonight. Arms wrapped around each other, lips met with fiery passion neither had ever known, and neither could ever remember feeling more alive. It wasn't until one of their lives was truly at stake that they realized just how deep, how true, their love was. A similar situation was exactly what had made their feelings undeniable and the same type of situation had killed the few remaining doubts.

There was no conversation or permission; they hungrily continued without reserve. They were two stars colliding, no force strong enough to control or separate them. She pulled at the buttons of his purple dress shirt until it slid down his broad shoulders. At the first moment possible, his hands found her knees while their lips remained inseparable. Sherlock slid his fingers lightly up her thighs and even past the hem of her unwanted shirt. Breathing heavily, she released his neck from her hands long enough for him to remove the soft material from her body. He had never seen her so exposed, wonderfully naked, and the sight was breathtaking- his blue green eyes widening to take all of her in for the first time.

He winced when she lifted his white undershirt. A sharp painful noise escaped from his wet lips, already swollen from her sucking on them. After searching his torso for a few seconds, she found the large bruise and traces of dried blood above his ribs.

"What the devil?" she gasped in shock, motherly instincts magically appearing.

Steph traced around his wound with featherlike fingers as Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on her. Her mind raced with possibilities of how he got hurt- a fight no doubt. And from the looks of it, he was outnumbered. Taking a closer look at him, searching for more clues, she noticed the blood stained skin around his nose. More tiny bruises suddenly made themselves visible, making her wonder how he wasn't in greater pain. After taking her now colorless face into his large hands, Sherlock forced her to meet his stare.

"Don't do this to yourself," he nearly begged. "It looks much worse than it feels." Her apologetic eyes didn't believe him. "Really."

"This is my fault." He could feel her body start to tremble. "This all happened because of me."

"Yes," he blurted with teasing indifference before his shocked girlfriend could utter another word. Then an expression grew on his face- one she had seen on him only in their most private moments. But never as genuine as now.

Not another second was wasted before she retrieved his mouth with deep longing and urgent kisses. Their lips only parted long enough for her to carefully pull his undershirt over his perfect mop of curls. She found his small belt buckle, tugging until their hips sensually crashed together, filling them with a new wave of desperate desire. A deep moan built in his throat as she skillfully undid his button and zipper, brushing against him.

The moment his trousers fell to the floor, Sherlock fell on top of her. His large hand held her small head, soft red strands falling from between his fingers. As his eyes quickly glanced back down from her face to her body, he noticed her heaving breasts, tiny taught dark switches waiting to be discovered. Stephanie was reading his mind, more than ready. She started to raise her torso, to close the new distance between them, but Sherlock lovingly put his hand on her right magnificent mound and gently pushed her back onto the mattress. At first, she thought he was teasing her so she made a second attempt to rise up to meet his hovering body.

"Lay still," he slightly smiled, amused at her beautiful impatience, with eyes framed by messy thick curls. "Let me take you in." Their lover's stare was so intense that it alone sent a wave of unknown pleasure. It was going to happen tonight. Now.

She had never seen him like this, so nervous but controlled, focused and afraid, patient but so anxious all at once. Stephanie wished she could take back the few times she had been with the men she barely cared about. The act had been expected and executed without her input those few times. It wasn't often wanted but she made no efforts to stop what was being done- after all, that was the foundation of a relationship. Or so she had so wrongly thought. She longed to take back those times and replace them with what was about to be done here and now. This should have been her first time as well as his. They should have experienced this together. All of these thoughts came and faded in moments.

Looking up at him, she saw the one that held her heart as no other ever had. He was beautiful. The curls that framed his sharp pale features slightly bounced as his hidden nerves silently began to take over- not that he would even vaguely show his unfamiliar anxiety. Those light eyes sparkled and the small brown spot in the iris of his right eye captured her brief attention. Heart shaped lips beckoned and mocked her while she was lightly being held down. The perfect cheekbones completed his handsome face with a rugged but exquisite charm. Strong arms and his shaped stomach softly dipped down against hers- such a small dose of contact driving her mad.

"I'm not doing this merely as some romantic gesture." He finally spoke. "When I thought I was going to die tonight, my one true regret was not being able to spend more time with you." He paused. This next bit was unfathomable to even him but now was the most appropriate time to say the once insufferable words.

"I… love you, Steph," he softly and melodically confessed in his special deep rich tone.

"Don't you mean Cassidy," the beautiful girl nearly giggled with a blissful and sarcastic expression.

"I should have known you would have some clever or smug reply," he groaned, adoringly rolling his eyes. "The first time I tell a woman I love her and she makes a joke of it."

Though he acted put off by her playful comment, she knew better. "You wouldn't want me any other way, Sherlock Holmes," she stated in a soft, almost cheeky, manner.

"Immature?" he tested as if he were actually annoyed with her.

"In love," she cooed. Catching him off his guard, she pulled him down to her

He immediately slid his knee between her legs as a soft gasp of arousal escaped her. She felt his need pressing against her upper leg. They were each hungry for this and had been since that first night. Her fingers wrapped around his hair as the room and all its scientific trappings disappeared. Nothing remained except him.

"I need you", she gasped while her hips grinded into his.

His body fell atop hers the way she had been wanting for what seemed hours already. His lips ventured up her neck, taking small nibbles here and there until he was at her ear. Steph's attempt of a smile was the only facial response she could muster. Her body was getting carried away with him and they were just beginning. Ever so lightly, she ran both hands up and down his back, her fingertips like feathers up and down his spine. The sensation drove him on. Each time he began second guessing his body, silently terrified that he would mess up in some way and ruin it, she somehow knew just when and how to let him know she was being satisfied. It had to be soon.

Sherlock had waited so long and now here she was- the one that had already changed it all. He wanted to feel her in a way he had never felt any woman, a way he didn't even have the emotional capacity to imagine. His mind was racing on overdrive. Of all the ways he had ever thought to do this, which was he going to choose?

"If you need-"

"Trust me," he wickedly grinned. "In my mind, we've done this ten times- eleven counting just now."

She was already too aroused and red skinned to blush. His simple honest speeches weren't helping matters. She wanted him this moment and he was wasting time being romantic.

Before another thought could flash through his mind, she whispered in his ear, "The one you want most."

"Let me know if I hurt you," he whispered before quickly repositioning.

He pulled each of her thighs to his hips and bent over her. Their fingers then intertwined in tight knots on either side of her head. She wondered how he knew to move his hips so precisely without practice. Had he put that much thought into this moment? All of her own thoughts faded the second she felt him begin to slide against her.

"Please," she begged, her body twisting with tortured anticipation.

This was far too much fun, teasing her, pushing her to her limits just as she did him each and every wonderful day. She had stretched and challenged him more than any other human being. He was different because of her, but most of the changes were more than welcomed. Her heavy panting made him burn deeper for her. His conception of beauty had changed over the years but this was by far the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on. Her sparkling body aching for him. He loved her with everything inside of him, parts he did and did not yet fully understand. Words were of no use to him now.

Sherlock gently pulled his lips apart from hers. She started to follow but knew he would only stop her as before. Steph closed her eyes, knowing what was next. The corner of her mouth raised just a bit. When her eyes fluttered back open, he was staring at her- eyes soft and eager. His lips crashed onto hers making her body feel as if it was going to melt into the sheets. Just as she began to feel herself relax further into the mattress, she felt him closer than before. Her eyes closed, paying close attention to the contact of their bodies. Then she felt him tense above her, his grip around her fingers slightly tighter.

Just before they became one, she whispered, "I love you, Sherlock." A brief, sweet, pause. "I love you."

It was unlike anything she knew was possible. He gasped as his head fell in the hole between her shoulder and neck, the air cold on her hot skin. His sounds of discovery were bringing her closer all too quickly. She had to calm herself down or the moment would come too soon. She wanted him to enjoy it as long as possible, as much as she was. The next time their eyes met, he gave her the fullest smile he could manage. Seeing her delight, he began testing different angles, taking note at which ones brought the most reaction from her.

Their hips rocked together as they took turns gasping and moaning, a name escaping their lips once every so often- usually her saying his. She grabbed his curls urging him to continue. Deeper. Quicker. When she felt the final wave rising from her toes, Stephanie used all of her strength to flip him onto his back. Her taking control sent pleasant vibrations throughout his already trembling body. She was perfect.

"My turn, Mr. Holmes," she seductively sighed. "Tell me when you are about to let go."

Her sexy confidence only worsened matters. Not letting her continue, he grabbed her hair and pulled her lips to his. The first time she slowly bounced down on him, hips gliding perfectly over him, he let out a quiet cry. In reaction, he began nipping at her neck, her chest, his fingers wandering her soft skin, as if she was the fret board to his violin. The sly thing did as he had done to her, bringing both of his hands above his head as she pumped, leaving him defenselessly and wonderfully bothered. Usually being the one in complete control, this was something quite new for sure. He felt her move in just the right way, making things go more blurry than before. His large hands broke free then grabbed her curved hips and he pushed into her with more force, becoming desperate. He felt her small fingers dig into his shoulders, keeping herself steady. This feeling, the uncontrollable aching he couldn't compare to anything else he had ever felt, was amazing. He could almost feel the chemicals rapidly changing in his brain. Her loud moan of ecstasy let him know that he had found the angle that would be their undoing- certainly his. The wonderful high pitched cry that escaped her sent the last thrilling jolt of electric through his body, much better than any high he'd ever experienced.

"Steph," he heavily breathed, unsure exactly how this bit worked. "Together."

With that single word gasped into her damp skin, she knew what to do. The girl sped their rocking pace up just a bit from the already high speed they had escaladed up to. She felt as if she was flying far above London in a cloud of him. The air was thick all around and their bodies were now glittering with sweat. Her will wanted to go longer but her body was just on the brink of completion. Before she gave into that fluttering feeling, she softly put her mouth to his, holding her climax in until their tongues had danced a few seconds. As she fluttered around him, Sherlock's eyes widened then slammed shut. It had been so long since she had felt such a physical connection. But that was nothing compared to the feeling of their souls combining in that instance. He filled every part of her heart, even the places she hadn't known about. They twitched and twisted against eachother, holding on the other for dear life, until their bodies stilled from the inside out.

Once their high began to wear off, she rolled off of him and onto his chest. Both panted and let out half laughs, amazed that they got it completely right their first try. Sherlock didn't know much about sex, other than the biology of it, but even he knew that what had just happened bound him to her forever. Even if something was to happen, things not work out between them, this girl would always come to his mind at the mentioning of the words "first love".

"Unbelievable," she giggled into his neck. Their still blurry eyes met in the sweetest of moments. "That was perfect." She kissed his forehead, moving damp curls from his eyes.

"More than worth the wait," he replied in that soft sweet tone only she had ever heard from him. "Absolutely perfect."

She gave him a simple kiss on the lips, her tongue slowly sliding across his bottom lip once more. Her heart hadn't even had time to slow down when that mischievous stare lit up his face.

"But why stop at perfection?" He rolled back on top of her and they began again, instantly panting and whispering eachother's names.

Hours later, it was their third time resting to regain strength. Holding her in his arms, he played with the strands of hair just above her neck. Naked bodies entwined under damp sheets and bright moonlight. The room had been silent for countless minutes as they caught their breath and simply took in the moment. Both were particularly and most unusually relaxed and happier than they knew was possible. Neither had ever allowed themselves to truly feel, much less love, until their two worlds combined.

She drew lazy circles lightly on his chest, the world suddenly perfect. Remaining silent, Sherlock's mind was filled with all sorts of new thoughts, ideas and fresh theories flooding his usually rational thinking process. But nothing was how it had always been. This woman had officially turned everything about his world upside down. He had said it before- love was a dangerous distraction. But with Stephanie Thomas, the danger was more than worth the minor distractions during the day. He had finally found someone who understood and appreciated him for him- not as the famous detective but as the secretly insecure and lonely high functioning sociopath. And she loved every piece of him, difficult parts and all. Little did he know that his thoughts echoed the ones running through her mind.

"This is so strange," he finally spoke.

"Which part are you referring to?" Snuggling closer, Steph was shocked and thankful for his being open after such a life changing few hours.

"I never knew I was mentally and physically able to feel like this. After having such a bleak outlook on all of this rubbish, it's strange to experience it all from the opposing side. And with someone like you."

After a short smile, she felt as if light was actually radiating from her skin. She couldn't have shined brighter if she had been a star.

"I know _precisely_ how you feel."

"Do you?" he asked, moving around to face her.

When they were finally situated, he was almost leaning back against the bed's headboard with her laying on his chest, her small chin resting on her soft crossed arms. Her eyes peeked up at him from under thick messy bangs.

"This is new to me as well, remember," she sighed. "Being in a proclaimed relationship and being in love are very different." Thinking of a better way to explain it, she couldn't help using his never satisfied flat mate. "Take John, for instance."

"No, don't use John," Sherlock growled, already disapproving of her analogy. He already had enough trouble imagining what went on in John's relationships. Now she was unnecessarily using him to prove a point.

"Give me a chance," she half giggled, knowing that he was acting more put off than he actually felt. "John Watson has had how many girlfriends since the two of you moved in together?" The rolling of his eyes was answer enough. "And how many of these girls has he been truly devoted to? And by devoted I mean really mad about- he'd do anything for them."

"Your point has been made," Sherlock sighed, wanting the conversation to move on, away from John's ridiculous irrelevant love life.

"He envies us. He loves us both dearly but he still wishes it had been him to find 'true love' first. He's been looking for it for years and we, two people who detest the very thought of sentiment, just happened to find it."

"Well, of course he's jealous," Sherlock smugly grinned. "Look who's holding you."

She barely had time enough to blush before their next round of love making began. This was their last and most relaxed try of the night. Each had learned to trust and let the other inside in a way unknown to either. Some married couples hadn't found the bizarre precious experience, of truly giving all of one's heart to another, as they had tonight. The two fell asleep after a few last sweet tender kisses. Though it was late, it had been well worth it. This new world, though unnatural, was changing their whole perception of life. The overly emotionless lives they had known until a few days ago were making less sense. How had they not known this way of living until now? How had no one else broken the spell before? Each of them had a few opportunities of relationships but love had never been a need as it was now. They _needed_ eachother and no one else would do. No one else came remotely close.


	45. Resolution

The next morning, Mrs. Hudson forced Steph to call her parents and briefly explain the dreadful incident. Steph was brave and remained collected the entire time, Sherlock sitting at her side. At one point she even grabbed his hand, his hand in hers giving her the strength to not follow her instincts to abruptly end the call. She loathed talking to her parents about negative or dangerous happenings so this was torture. All was well, what was the point in telling them horrifying details that no longer mattered? Twenty minutes after the call began, she told them that she wouldn't be on her flight- the one that left in just a few hours. It was too soon and she needed to rest for at least a day or two. To her grief, they demanded that she return the following day. Stephanie Thomas had one night left on Baker Street. She had one night left with him.

Mrs. Hudson kept Stephanie down in her flat, filling her body with warm tea and good meals, from the minute the girl entered her flat for a morning hug. Sherlock joined her, never leaving her side. They stomached through Mrs. Hudson's repulsive morning telly shows. The two stole a few heated kisses when the old woman would use the loo or leave the room in search of something. One time the pair even snuck into the guest bedroom to get a taste of what they had done the night before- those four minutes left them hungry for more. Night could not come soon enough.

The kind old thing asked no questions about her niece's disappearance but instead savored the few remaining hours they had together. The three talked, joked, and teased until a sheepish John entered. Stephanie immediately hid her building giggles, now understanding where the good doctor had been last night.

"Ah, there you are, John," Sherlock greeted his best friend, more than a single motive causing his unusually cheery tone. "Have a good night?"

"Yes, very nice. Thank you," the soldier replied, wanting rid of the subject as quickly as possible.

Morning became noon, the four gathered at Mrs. Hudson's kitchen for a celebration lunch of one of Stephanie's favorite dishes. John ran some errands while Sherlock and Stephanie tried to persuade the worried aunt that it was fine for them to go out in public- Steph was gasping for fresh air. But the stubborn land lady would hear nothing of it. This made for a very long day in 221 A. When night finally fell over London, the lovers returned upstairs.

Tender mischievous glances began directly after Mrs. Hudson's door closed and locked. They silently kissed and held in their sounds of bliss until they were at his door. Sherlock went in first then pulled his woman into a snog that lasted the entire way to his bedroom. His shirt fell somewhere in the hall and her jeans fell as the room's door closed.

To their amazement, it was just as new and breathtaking as it had been the previous night. Each had a better understanding of how to please the other and their pace was more controlled. Their release was as wonderful and blinding as they had remembered the several times the act replayed in their minds. Luckily, they finished just minutes before John returned. The two cuddled in silence, placing soft kisses on eachother's skin, each in their own thoughts. There was no need to talk, not right now. It had been a long couple of days and neither had time to fully process the details as they were accustomed to doing. It was a silent agreement of time to think that was greatly appreciated by both.

Around midnight, Sherlock was sitting up in bed as she laid in his lap staring up at him. The moment her eyes slowly moved away from his and towards the ceiling he had to make a conscious effort not to worry. With everything she had been through, she had every right to have her private thoughts and be lost in her own world. His fingers were running through her bangs, the same gentle motion repeated, for the past silent hour. This time last night, they were just starting the kisses that turned into the soul binding act of love.

In just a few short hours, she'd be on her way back to her parents' home. She'd be gone just like that. Stephanie Thomas had come into his life like a storm and had changed everything he had ever known. She'd changed him. He couldn't imagine his life without her part of it each and every day. Was this partly why people got married? So they wouldn't have to be apart and forever labeled merely exclusive? Until this beautiful clever girl, the thought of a Mrs. Holmes had never even crossed his mind- ever. It wasn't even a possibility.

What was going through her mind? What thoughts of such difficult matters were there to hide behind her practiced expression of total calm? Her face appeared relaxed but her nervous heart beats assured him she was far from content. Was tomorrow the end of their short-lived romance? Had the events of this week ripped the seams of the determination and hopes from their passionate beginning? Even after they had made sweet precious love, he couldn't shake the thought of this being the end. What sane intelligent woman would want this sort of ridiculous life with him, the clever sociopath who still didn't understand so many simple aspects of life itself? He was beginning to go mad from thoughts of love and the near future. There was no deep breath of warning before he spoke.

''It would mean a lot to me if you'd think aloud. No matter what you're thinking. Please?"

Sherlock's request was soft spoken, the concern hidden behind pure love in his tone, and the mixture of genuine curiosity and love nearly overwhelmed her. For the first time in a while, her stare returned to his, a small brief grin forming. Stephanie moved until she was sitting in his lap, straddling him chest to chest. After her arms wrapped around his neck she paused, their stare more intense than before.

"I couldn't possibly leave tomorrow," she whispered, a hint of fear in her voice and eyes. By his wide-eyed reaction it was obvious she had just voiced something entirely unexpected. He probably didn't even know what to think, much less what to say. "I'm telling them tomorrow that I'm staying with you the rest of summer, here in London. I don't care what the consequences are. Let another Jim Moriarty try to bring us apart; tell all the other villainous idiots to give it all they've got. I'm not leaving."

"Steph, listen to yourself," he calmly began, the logical and emotional parts of his brain at war. So this was love.

"My summer has just begun-"

"And you've been in danger since your first night here, kidnapped twice, beaten multiple times, and almost killed God only knows how many times. The answer is no." The crack in his stern voice deceived him, revealing his true feelings on the matter.

She placed a small hand on his chest, feeling each pulse of his fiercely beating heart. He was terrified for her. A repeat of the last few days would be the worst thing for them both. But that was the risk she was more than willing to take to be with him, the man that would forever be her soulmate- if such a thing truly existed.

"I was just a strange clever girl before you. Then you made me the brave spirited dreamer I've always longed to be. You've made me better in just two weeks, Sherlock. I'm not leaving while we are just beginning. I want to be with you, even if it means we are physically apart more hours of a day than we are together. It would be a distraction but I can find a summer job, do my own thing, whatever it takes to find a medium that keeps our lives combined."

"Steph," he whispered, her pleading was like a knife to his newfound heart. His slightly trembling hands moved to her back, as if he was about to pull her into him.

"I love you," she hopelessly announced. It was just like a scene from a film, one many blokes spent their lives pining for. So passionate, honest, strong willed. So perfect.

Before he could further object, she pressed her lips to his. It wasn't the sort of kiss that turned into making love. Nor was it the type that was meant to manipulate him into giving her what she wanted. This kiss was desperate. Desperate to be where he was. Desperate for more time than the unbelievable fifteen days that had changed their lives. Desperate for the love they had always secretly dreamt of in fear of it not being real. But it was real and neither wanted life to return to its previous shades of blues and grays.

"You have to go," he choked. It was her turn to be tortured by his expression of despair. "Even if only for a few weeks. Baker Street, all of London, is not safe for you. I won't take another chance of losing you."

"But-"

"No." The word came out more cross, harsh even, than either had anticipated. He wasn't upset with her but the very thought of finding her tied in another chair literally made him flinch. Putting a hand to her pink face, somewhere between pail from shock and emotionally red, he closed his eyes before whispering, "If you love me…"

"Please don't do that." Her eyes began to tear. "Don't-"

"I'll buy your ticket home in the morning for a flight around noon. The sooner the better. Not because I want rid of you. God knows sending you back home will be the single most difficult thing I've ever done." His hands slid from her cheeks to her neck. Sherlock took a deep breath and put his forehead against hers, now keeping as much eye contact as possible. "Your safety is my first and most important priority now, from now on."

Steph, now silently crying moved herself from his lap. So this was how it was going to be. The stubborn man was more brains than heart after all. She couldn't help questioning if his pushing her away was to let her down easy or if it was genuinely for her protection.

"I just can't help but wonder which of us you're trying to save most," the woman hissed with fierce eyes. "Me or yourself." Her harsh words had worked too well, making Sherlock squirm uncomfortably beside her. "I know you don't want to get hurt and you know where I stand without my explaining."

"Listen very careful to me," the man with sad eyes ordered, his dark voice coming from the painful sting of her words. "If it were me, if I was the one being threatened if I stayed, you would be attempting to do the exact same to me. I'm not pushing you away or trying to talk my way out of this relationship. But, Stephanie, you're clever enough to know the horrors waiting for us if you stay."

"Perhaps no criminal will attempt to come against the duo that finally put Moriarty and his vicious minions to rest."

"It's not that simple," he whispered with regret in his eyes and tone.

Her first instinct was to give him a smart remark then sleep downstairs for the night. But there wasn't the time for one of their witty rows or arguments. In less than twelve hours she'd be gone, far away from the one person she had ever felt this way about.

"And if I leave?" She was asking more than the few simple words conveyed but he knew the nature of her question all the same.

His Adam's apple bobbed, eyes dilated, and the vein in his neck twitched- her question difficult to answer. He was about to get sentimental. She prepared herself to hang onto his every word.

"We're still in a relationship. You're still the only woman I've ever wanted or could ever want." He felt her relax a bit under his hands, now at her waist. "I just hope you don't find someone back at Uni that will change your mind."

After a short soft giggle and a blush that made him grin, Steph promised, "That won't happen." The mischievous smirk he adored appeared before she added, "Well, maybe a handsome brilliant professor of some sort. Someone a bit older." He rolled his eyes, not even attempting to act offended. "You would find yourself with someone new long before I would," she sadly confessed.

"You're not serious," he half snorted at the absurd idea.

"There was an Irene Adler before me," she half smiled. Sherlock's shocked expression was priceless. "I read something a while back and put it together shortly after we met. Didn't ever find the need to bring it up." He began to protest or explain but she cut him off. "That's not important."

"The only relationship that could compare in importance to ours is the friendship between John and I. And that is something entirely different all together. He has been the only friend I've ever truly relied on and you…" What could he say that would come close to conveying her impact on his life? She had become his life.

"Your first love," she sighed, a heartrending look in her eyes. "And you mine." Stephanie moved back into his arms before whispering, "I just don't want to lose you now that I've found you. Can't imagine not waking next to you after all of this. It will be as if the last two weeks was just a long complex dream."

"Perhaps you could return in late July or August. Lestrade could have everything sorted by then, if he stays dedicated to the task." Probably wishful thinking. James Moriarty's criminal web and secrets would never be fully revealed before next year, if ever. "Take it one week at a time until then?"

"I suppose we have no choice," the brave girl groaned. It was impossible to argue with him once his mind was set on something. Besides, everyone else was ordering her to do the same. Going against one of the few people she loved was difficult enough but staying would be going against every person that mattered most.

Sherlock wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. She memorized the feel of his fingers sliding between her bottom eyelashes and cheeks. If only they could stay in that room forever. Their eyes locked before she suddenly threw her arms tightly around his neck- as if she was fighting a tangible form of Fate trying to pull them apart. He responded by returning her light body onto his lap as she had been before. They held eachother for several silent minutes, each in their own repetitive thoughts. Finally, she loosened her grip around him and searched his sorrowful eyes.

"If this is our last night, then…" With the slightest trace of the sensual smirk from last night, the beauty removed the tank top she had put on before they began cuddling in silence. "We'll need something to get us through the several lonely summer weeks to come."

Sherlock didn't say a word. Nor did he change the lost expression she was trying so hard to clear from his perfect face. It was obvious that he was still fighting with himself over the matter. His words had been definite, his mind seemingly made up. But his emotions had become so strong in the last several days that part of him still questioned sending her away. It was the new part of him that longed for her to be by his side that deepened her already strong love for him.

Just when she began to second guess her lustful suggestion, suddenly feeling slightly slutty and a bit ashamed, he leaned in towards her until she felt his lips just under her ear. Her eyes closed as her chest tightened with unexpected pleasure. The hot breath he inhaled sent a burst of cold shivers through her body.

"Then I'll go slow, to take in every last moment," he breathed against her.

They had done the quick passionate version last night and the urgent session earlier this evening. Now, the idea was to take in every last sensory detail and sustain for as long as possible. In addition to going as long as they could, they also wanted to please the other to the fullest- leaving no chasm or limb unsatisfied.

Morning would come too soon.


	46. Good-Bye

His heart ached the moment his eyes opened to the sight of her beside him, in a peaceful sleep still entirely naked. It would be months before he saw this again, not including the bitter-sweet dreams that were sure to find him. As rain fell against the window, a melancholy smirk crossed his lips. A rainy day was more than fitting for today.

The firm words he had spoken last night seemed mad this morning. How could he send her away? How could he go back to his old routine without her around? It was still so much more than sex. He had worried that once they did the once mysterious deed their more than tolerable relationship would drastically change. While it was different between them, he still got a rush from just watching her sleep. London would seem empty without her presence.

Then the image of her tied to the chair flashed through his thoughts, as vivid as if he'd looked at a screen. His heart momentarily stopped and stomach knotted at the thought of finding her like that again. Once was already one time too many. He was suddenly reminded where his train of thought had come from when giving her those wicked orders. But she wasn't safe. And she needed to be home with her parents after such a shock. While she was an adult, she was still their daughter and Mrs. Hudson gave him a small glimpse of what her parents were surly feeling.

Not wanting to wake her, he slid out from under the covers and got dressed in silence. If he didn't dress now, he'd have to come back into this room to the perfect sight of her. With a better understanding of his new self, he knew seeing her like this a second time this morning would change his mind all over again. Before leaving the room, Sherlock stared down at his sleeping angel. The pain he was feeling now would find her in a while when her eyes fluttered open to their last few hours together.

Sherlock shuffled down the hall they had walked backwards through kissing last night. With a slightly throbbing head, he took his seat at the desk and opened John's laptop. The lid was opened and the recently changed password was cracked- SARAH, simple. After his long fingers tapped at the keys for a minute or two, he stopped at the confirmation screen. Her flight time had been set and she would land fairly close to her home. She could catch a ride the rest of the way. All it took was one last click to order the ticket for two this afternoon, her ticket to safety. The white slanted arrow moved across the screen and dangled over the "purchase ticket" icon.

He paused, almost unable to make his finger complete the simple command his brain was sending. After several tries, the pain stricken detective simply folded his arms and leaned back in the chair. His mind immediately ran through the events since his Stephanie entered his life. Thoughtful minutes passed as Sherlock got lost in memories that would probably fade with her absence, only one of many risks he was taking by sending her away.

He heard John coming down the hall, tearing him away from still fresh memories of the night before last. Going against everything he was feeling that precise moment, Sherlock moved his hand back to the laptop and clicked the bloody link. Ticket purchased.

"On the internet already?" John teased in his low morning voice. His smile faded when Sherlock ignored him. The old Sherlock seemed to have returned. John walked over to his quiet friend and peeked over his shoulder. "Going somewhere, then? A nice holiday would be good for you. Both of you, perhaps. You haven't just disappeared since… Well." John's thoughts raced to the event that wasn't mentioned very often.

"Sending Cassidy back home," the genius announced with a low soft rumble, as if he was doing research for a case- concentrated but mostly indifferent.

"Sending her back!? Are the two of you-"

"We are fine. But she cannot stay in London. It isn't safe."

"You're joking." Wide eyed Watson was almost cross at the machine who had seemed to return since last night. "You're just going to let her go? Just like that? Save her, share your first shag, get scared, then send her back home?"

Turning in the chair with a more than aggravated glare, Sherlock hissed, "And what would you have me do for her safety? Stay home and watch her all day? Follow her around? Keep her at arm's length?"

"You don't mean that," John whispered, seeing Sherlock in great pain.

"You don't want another repeat of her kidnapping do you?"

"No, but I also don't want you to go mad over her. You love her. Anyone can see that. People that have known you for years can see that. She isn't even gone and you're already being the mostly selfish dick you've always been."

"I'm being selfish by taking her somewhere she'll be safe? She needs to be with her family right now. She needs time at home to process, to think, to-"

"You want her to back out. You're scared and don't want to do it so you're… Unbelievable."

"That's not how it is and you bloody well know it!" Sherlock yelled with a dangerous stare.

John glanced down the hall in hopes that Sherlock hadn't waked her. Sherlock caught Watson's train of thought and tried to calm down.

"Fine. You want her safe. I get it." John paced a few times and scratched his head before sighing, "I just don't know how, after all the two of you have been though, you can just let her go. You're insane for doing so."

"I'm ready."

They both looked over to find Stephanie standing in front of the door with her luggage sitting beside her. The woman's light rain coat was already on as if she were ready to leave that second. Their row had waken her up from the beautiful sleep Sherlock had been mesmerized by earlier. But he could see through those brave eyes and falsely eager expression. A line falling from her right eye down her cheek ending on her chin told him a single tear had escaped before she left his bedroom.

"I'll get my coat," Sherlock whispered, unable to meet her eyes.

She gave him a nod before he started down the hall with all the confidence Sherlock Holmes was known for. Turning her gaze to her new friend, she couldn't help a smile.

"I'm so glad to have met you, Dr. Watson."

He immediately picked up on her sudden formality. Just a few mornings ago she had made him breakfast in her sleep clothes. And now…

"It's John, remember?" He chuckled. "And I'm sure we'll be seeing more of eachother."

"I hope so," she smiled back, hiding her nerves as best as she knew how. Hiding her feelings had been so easy until it came to leaving this place, the very thought of leaving him took a physical toll on her.

John looked down the hall to make sure Sherlock was in his room before speaking.

"He loves you," he softly announced. "He's doing this to protect you and I don't even understand it but… Don't give up on him."

"Thank you, John. So much." She grabbed the sweet doctor and they hugged. Both fully aware of where the other stood on the matter.

Neither knew it but Sherlock had heard their entire conversation as he leaned back onto his closed bedroom door, fighting the tears that had been threatening to fall all morning. He hadn't cried in so long. The times he actually teared up were few and great spans of time in between. It was as if his heart was being pulled from his chest, a medical impossibility and overly used symbolic image but still. John's words already echoed in his thoughts- "don't give up on him". Did she look like she was going to? He couldn't even bear looking at her long enough to see anything but the tear soaked line on her flushed cheek. The once heartless man took a deep breath, wiped his eyes, gathered himself with the mask of confidence he faked so well, and took his first steps up the hall.

"Your aunt will want to see you," Sherlock announced, the doctor and gloomy woman parting with small forced grins.

"Have a lovely flight," John offered with a wave.

Sherlock reached down to pick up her larger piece of luggage.

"I've got it," she snapped at him in the sweetest of voices.

She wasn't going to let him help her and it gave him a wretched feeling. Holmes quickly looked towards Watson for encouragement of some sort. But John only turned his eyes out the window to the bleak London sky, keeping his mouth shut for a variety of reasons. Most of all, this was his way of showing his disapproval of how his flatmate was handling the situation. Sherlock didn't speak before following Stephanie out of the door. How long was John going to be cross with him? She wasn't even gone and he was already being scrutinized for sending her home.

Steph set her two bags and purse in front of her aunt's door before knocking, keeping silent and forcing her eyes as far away from her boyfriend as possible. Her refusing to meet his eyes was enough to bother him but her forced bravery burned him even more. She was hurting but was going through great lengths to keep it from showing. When most women would have been in tears begging to stay, his Stephanie was handling things in her own forceful stubborn manner.

"Oh, my Steph," Mrs. Hudson smiled, not wanting to say goodbye. She embraced the girl and held on for several seconds. "I love you, dearest. Thank you for visiting. I'm so sorry about…"

"Love you, too," the girl revealed her first genuine smile of the morning. "I'll miss you so much."

"Come again soon." The land lady glanced up at a stony Sherlock. "For both of us."

"I'll see what I can do."

"What time is your flight?"

"Two, but I need to be there early and all."

"Yes," the old woman sighed, sad that the days were too few and mostly wasted. "Give me a ring when you get home."

"Absolutely."

They exchanged kisses then Steph grabbed her bags, grabbing the larger piece before Sherlock could get to it. He hid all signs of protest, dreading what conversation would be had in the cab. If they spoke at all.

He opened the door for her and assured Mrs. Hudson that he would return soon. A cab was hailed, she got in, the luggage was crammed between them, and he recognized this as an action she performed with purpose. Each stared out their window as the cab pulled away from 221 Baker Street. He stole a quick glance at her and immediately wished he hadn't done so. There was a possibility that he saw a tear fall from her glossy green troubled eyes. London passed by with umbrellas and rain boots all around. If only they had more time. They made it two silent miles before he finally took a deep breath and grabbed her hand. She pulled away without moving her eyes from the rain covered glass.

"Please don't do this. It's hard enough," he confessed with a cracking voice.

"I know," she whispered. "Forgive me."

There was an edge to her tone. As if she was drawing special attention to her mock apology, reminding him that he was the one who needed to be apologizing to her. She returned her hand to his but he almost declined, pride becoming his defense mechanism of choice- his shield to hide the pain that was sure to come soon enough. Their attention remained at their windows until the cab pulled into the airport.

This time, she allowed Sherlock to carry her larger bag but lead the way to her terminal with a speed several paces ahead of him. He didn't fall in step with her until their last few steps together before her passenger protocols began.

She finally turned towards him, their eyes meeting for the first time all morning. He handed her the luggage with the handle already accessible. So this was how their farewell was going to happen- in bitter remorseful silence?

"I'll call when I'm safely at home," she attempted a small half smile. The word "safely" had been stressed in a way that nearly broke his heart.

"I'll be waiting," he answered.

It was impossible to ignore his shaky voice and constantly blinking eyes, his gaze sporadic and brief on her. The green eyes, however, were fixed on him. She was reviewing the already memorized details of him for the last time, making sure nothing was forgotten or remembered incorrectly.

"Oh, your ticket." He fumbled into his pocket with what looked like a trembling clumsy hand. Pulling out the printed piece of paper, he offered a friendly smirk.

"Thank you." The words were whispered.

Her eyes dropped to take the paper from his hand, making sure their skin didn't touch. One brush of his skin against hers could ruin her act of strength that had been perfectly executed all morning. She didn't want to be that blubbering girlfriend telling her new boyfriend good-bye between sobs.

Her emerald eyes met his once more before she gave a small shrug and sighed, "Guess it's time. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."

She turned on her heels as he thought about grabbing her wrist and pulling her into him, crushing her lips with the most passionate of kisses. Did she know how much this was killing him? Did she truly grasp how much he loved her?

One step. She was officially on her way out of his everyday life. She would now be reduced to phone calls and rare camera chats on the laptop.

Step two. They hadn't even told eachother the three words they had held in for nearly two weeks. The three words he needed her to hear him say today above all other days. The three words he needed to hear from her to assure that they were still the couple from last night. Last night they seemed to be completely different people. Had they faded so quickly? He didn't want to lose sight of who had been together.

Step three. She didn't even seem bothered that they hadn't taken their last opportunity to kiss. How he longed to kiss her right now. But now her lips wouldn't meet his for at least another two months, if ever again. His brain began the war all over again- was this truly the right thing to do? Was she in so much harm in London that this was the only way to ensure her safety?

Step four. He became jealous at the sight of a young male airport employee offering to take her bags. She made and kept eye contact with him, giving him a pleasant grin with a lovely melodic remark of thanks. Stephanie had just conversed with a stranger, one more appropriate for her age, and had more eye contact with the lad than she had given him the last two and half hours. Jealousy ran deep through his already raw emotions. Maybe he had been better off without them after all. His whole world was crumbling and he was too stubborn to take a single step or utter one word to change what was happening.

Step five. Steph's head fell a bit and her ankles wavered for just a moment. Sherlock took one step forwards with the intention of keeping her balanced. But she was upright and centered to take another step.

Step six. He watching in brilliant disbelief as she said something to the young bloke with her bags. The boy continued with her bags. Stephanie spun around, her raincoat twirling at her thighs, then ran towards him. Tears filled her eyes as a look of sorrow and desperation filled her face. Many around watched but Sherlock didn't have enough pride left in himself to care. Let them watch and think what they will, he thought.

The slightest smile of relief curved his lips as Steph jumped into his arms. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her as close to him as possible. While his mind had fallen blank, a rare occurrence, his heart became full of all the assurance he was in such need of.

"I love you, Sherlock," she cried into his neck, her tears running down soaking his collar. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been so cold all morning. I just-"

"I'll let you know when it's safe to return. I want you here with me more than anything else, do you understand?" he cried into her hair with a pleased smirk and loving tone. Sherlock held onto her for dear life as their defensive walls tumbled down.

She couldn't leave him like that- angry, aggressive, overly sassy, and mulish. Most of all, she couldn't leave him believing that they had proclaimed love too soon, were over, arguing, or, any other childish allusion she had given him this morning.

"I love you," he vowed before kissing her forehead, thanking whatever invisible force had changed her mind. "My heart," he chuckled, burying his face into her shoulder.

Her hand ran through his mess of curls on last time, the brown strands soft from the rain. Leaving London was still going to be difficult but she knew, despite her emotions and new romantic logic, that she needed to be with her family. Her parents were worried and probably still in shock from the news of her now having a boyfriend. It would take a while for the Moriarty incident to blow over, but when it did she would be on the next flight back to Heathrow.

Her flight number was yelled over the intercoms. Reluctantly, she loosened her grasp around him and he returned her to the ground. Steph kissed him once and took his face into her hands. The last of their tears streamed down their cheeks as their time came to a close.

"Call me," he teased.

She giggled at his uncharacteristic line before running her finger over his lips. Their eyes locked when he kissed the tip of her finger, a dim sensual spark in his eyes promising to remember and cherish the two heated nights they had together. With a nod, she took a step backwards. Sherlock's hands slid down her shoulders until she moved out of his reach. Steph turned and walked the six steps she had before. On the seventh, she looked behind with a sad but understanding smile. Her lips pursed into a quick kiss then she disappeared into the crowd.


	47. Maddening

Last few chapters in honor of Benedict's birthday tomorrow! Happy birthday Ben! Hope you all enjoy. A special message at the end =) Would love to hear all feedback! Tell me what you thought/ liked/ didn't care for and such. You guys are the best!

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He couldn't bear to watch her plane leave. Those six steps were more than enough to kill him. Already, he hated himself. Keeping a close eye on her wouldn't have been that much trouble. It was such a small price to pay to keep her in his life the way she had been the last two weeks- without the elements of immediate danger.

A cab couldn't be hailed soon enough. Sherlock Holmes was half way home when he asked the cabbie to take him to Hyde Park. He needed to walk off this nervous energy. The rain had been reduced to an overcast sky. Maybe a walk would sooth these strange unwanted feelings of anguish. There was nothing on his schedule today anyways so it wasn't as if he was missing anything. John would probably be cross with him for at least the next several days. Mrs. Hudson would have all sorts of questions concerning the kidnapping he felt no desire in talking about for now. There would come a day that the old woman's questions would be answered but today was not that day. The car stopped and he gave the driver the money with a small tip for changing route.

It took the brilliant genius seven minutes of walking to admit the truth to himself. He didn't want to walk. He wasn't avoiding John, or Mrs. Hudson for that matter. He wasn't any more on edge than usual. And the truth was too simple to wrap his mind around.

221 Baker Street was being avoided because he didn't want to walk into his flat knowing that she wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be downstairs chatting or watching telly with her aunt. Nor would she be returning from somewhere to spend the rest of her night curled around him in his bedroom. Stephanie Thomas was gone.

How had he not predicted he would feel like this? Surely he knew it wouldn't take long for him to hate himself. He suddenly couldn't remember how he'd spent his days before her. He'd kept busy and was constantly working on a case but how had his job ruled every moment of his days and nights? How would he fall asleep each night wondering if he would ever feel her lightly breathing against him again? Mornings wouldn't be right without her little smirks left over from the night before. They hadn't even started texting eachother throughout the day- they had somehow skipped that part of their relationship all together.

Hearing her voice alone wouldn't be enough. He needed to watch those pretty lips move with the light melodic sounds. But even when video chatting, looking and hearing her wouldn't be enough. He'd want to touch her.

His walk lasted all of twenty minutes as he wrestled with himself. In the end, nothing could be changed now. She was already almost home and he needed to prepare himself to sound half normal when she called. But his clever girl would sense the least bit of unease in his voice; the slightest wavering or cracking in his words would be noticed. He walked the two miles back to his flat on Baker Street already anticipating the lonely sting that would greet him.

Sherlock entered silently so Mrs. Hudson wouldn't hear his entrance into the building. John would be the next bullet to dodge. The staircase seemed to have gained a few steps since this morning, impossible he knew. Silence filled the air, no light familiar laughter to be heard. Now at the door, he hesitated. With a trembling hand at the door knob, the great detective took a heavy breath. He braced himself for the wave of regret that was only moments away. This was absolutely maddening.

The knob turned in his hands and the door opened. His eyes didn't raise to glance around the deathly silent room until the door had been closed. Reaching to remove his blue scarf, still holding a trace of her perfume, his eyes suddenly widened. Breathing and thinking stopped in unison.

"I've never been very good at following instructions," she hesitantly stated, her voice light and attempting some degree of humor.

His Steph was sitting in the exact spot in the same position as when he first set eyes on her. She was still wearing her coat and her two pieces of luggage and purse were at her feet.

"If I always took orders, we wouldn't have become what we are and your secrets would have all been given to Moriarty starting two weeks ago." She rose to her feet, her eyes off him only until she found the proper order to speak her thoughts. "Listen to me closely. I was about to get onto the plane when I asked myself what you would do. If you were being made to go somewhere you didn't want to for a reason you truly believed you could outsmart."

"And… what would I have done?" He asked with each word coming out as its own nervous question.

Her eyes lit up and a small amused grin played on her lips before she sighed, "Whatever the hell you wanted to."

Sherlock could hardly believe what he was seeing. She was absolutely certainly standing before him in his livingroom talking to him. He wasn't imagining the present scene. He didn't want to touch her. Part of him wanted to believe she was now at home beginning a happy reunion with her worried parents. But her shadow proved her existence.

"You should have been on that flight," he softly hissed, taking off his scarf and coat for the sake of fidgeting with something. She had completely disobeyed him.

"Perhaps. But I… just couldn't," she nearly whispered with her eyes now at the floor.

He didn't walk over and wrap her in the warm embrace she had rather been looking forward to. He didn't smile that gorgeous smile she had thought about the entire cab ride back to Baker Street. In fact, he was acting as if he didn't want her there at all. He even seemed a bit put off that she was there.

"I can be on the next flight back," she sighed, waiting a moment before grabbing her bags to leave a second heartbreaking time.

"No need. You're an adult., after all. I've done all I can to protect you," he stated, still cold, and left the room to hang his coat.

The smallest of grins briefly traced her lips. He hadn't thrown her out. That was a good sign.

When he entered the room again he flatly asked, "Does your aunt know you've returned?"

"No. I wanted you to be the first to know."

"So you snuck in?"

"Not really. Just did the same as you and kept quiet."

"You unlocked the door?"

"John forgot to lock it. He did a bit of cleaning since we left then went out himself."

Each comment was emotionless yet casual- as if two strangers were talking. They remained a good distance apart. She finally took a single step towards him before he made his way to the door and opened it.

"Your aunt should know your back."

"And where will you be?" Would he leave the flat from anger or being overwhelmed? How much of his stony treatment was an act?

"I'll be here," he moaned in what resembled disappointment.

The young woman nodded then walked past her boyfriend through the door. He closed his eyes the moment she was behind him and breathed in a stronger aroma of the scent tangled in his scarf. She hadn't even brushed against him when walking by. Each step she took helped him make up his cloudy and confused mind, his feelings and private thoughts beginning to sort themselves out.

Mrs. Hudson was more overjoyed than confused to find her niece standing in her doorway after the mysterious single knock. The girl explained how she couldn't bear to leave and the old woman only nodded with a smile, wise in her age. When Steph returned upstairs, she was greeted by an unusually calm John Watson; only Sherlock understood the satisfied gleam in the doctor's eyes. The day was spent lounging around and researching what the public was told about the incident so they each knew how to answer questions when they came- and they would come.

That night, while changing into their sleep clothes, Sherlock and Steph remained mostly silent towards eachother. She hadn't figured out how to take his still quiet and cold behavior towards her but didn't regret her choice for a moment. He crawled under the covers wearing more clothes than he had ever worn when they slept together. His back immediately turned towards her. Not breaking his so desired silence, she got into bed and kept on her own side. Her back turned towards him in hopes of a reaction- two could play this game. The lamp on his nightstand went off, everything suddenly dark.

It was several minutes before Stephanie whispered, "Love you."

She laid there perfectly still, now accepting that it would take several days for him to forgive her. All hopes of a happy reunion night had been dashed. This had all played out quite differently in her mind on the cab ride back to Baker Street. How were her calculations so wrong? Didn't she know him well enough to predict him? She could always predict people's actions shortly after meeting them- and they had spent the better part of two weeks together. One last breath was drawn before she made a true effort to sleep. It was difficult to force herself not to care until the morning. Perhaps things would be different then.

Stephanie Thomas was half asleep when she felt the mattress move beneath her. A warm familiar arm wrapped around her just before his chest molded into her back. Their legs tangled with no effort, as if an old routine. The pink lips turned in a surprised smile, words unnecessary for now. Her heart sped as he moved as close to her as possible. So he wasn't as angry as he had acted since her return.

It was a few minutes before the lips she had craved all afternoon finally brushed against her skin, on the back of her neck to be specific. The sensation sent a pleasant warm chill through her body, allowing her to finally relax for the first time in hours.

"You're pleased I didn't go," she teased as a statement.

"Go to sleep, Cassidy," he replied without emotion. But she knew he was smirking- not about to admit she was right.

She turned towards him to better tangle them together then they fell asleep. The next morning, Sherlock and John began another case- one less deadly than the previous. And Miss Thomas' knowledge of the solar system was the key to their cracking the case.


	48. The Disappearance of Sherlock Holmes

The summer went by too quickly. Between the love made and cases solved, Stephanie Thomas' extended stay in London was more exciting than she had ever hoped her life could be. She had even became great friends and shopping mates with Molly Hooper. Her last night was spent celebrating in the company of their small private group of friends including John, Molly, her aunt, and even Lestrade. Their last love session was bitter-sweet but Thanksgiving would come soon enough- she even thought about bringing her boyfriend to meet her parents for that holiday weekend. Sherlock took her to the airport the next morning and they held hands and kissed as much as possible. When her hand slid out of his, her first seven steps away didn't kill him as they had done before. This wasn't the end. Only their beginning.

Steph went home for two weeks before classes began and spent time with her parents, doing some packing until she left for school. Classes were dull but her new texting habit had proven to be far more interesting than she had expected- especially the occasional photo. She became terribly homesick for London half way through the semester, mostly lovesick for him. Her boring life as a senior student changed one boring day when her roommate came to her about a letter addressed only to a "Cassidy". The letter's contents prepared her for the arrival of Sherlock Holmes, her boyfriend moving to Oxford until she graduated in April.

Their first night in their Oxford townhouse was one they would each cherish forever. Living with him was almost as good as it had been on Baker Street- a bit more private without John or her aunt but still full of cases and mysteries of the historic city only they knew. The two only grew closer and gained a better sense of a few "normal" human traits they had lived so long without.

Thanksgiving came and she finally introduced her parents to the man she claimed had her heart. They were skeptical of her supposed savior and even worried to realize his identity, but he had more than proved himself before the weekend was over. Stephanie was blissful beyond words to spend Christmas in London back at Sherlock's old flat. She had even persuaded her aunt and uncle to allow her favorite cousin, and only true friend, to spend a week of the holiday at Baker Street.

The moment John saw Mary Morstan he loved her. He thought she equaled Stephanie in many ways, though Sherlock would entirely disagree. The two were in a relationship before her time in London ended. Sherlock and Steph only rolled their eyes and pretended to be put off at seeing two people they cherished in love with one another.

The Oxford lovers returned to finish Stephanie's college career. Mary returned to Baker Street for her spring holiday, the magical week John proposed to her. Their London group traveled to watch Stephanie graduate, quite the memorable weekend. Then, to her parents' disbelief, she and Sherlock returned to Baker Street to start their lives together in the place they had begun.

They were cuddled together in his bed. The first of many London summer thunderstorms was on the way, predicted to blow through around midnight. John and Mary were still out so 221B was almost silent. Sherlock took a heavy breath of contentment as Stephanie echoed his thoughts and sound. Thunder roared in the distance as he drew lazy circles on her naked shoulder. When he glanced down at her, he met her already staring eyes. How could she amaze him even after all the time they had been together? So many precious memories in Oxford and yet they were still together, still undeniably happy.

"I've… been thinking," he whispered.

"That has proven to be dangerous a time or two," she teased with a sleepy little smirk. Her lips pressed a kiss to his bare chest before their intense stare continued.

"We agreed to an exclusive partnership last summer."

"A relationship, yes."

The long pause suddenly made her nervous. This was unlike him. The moment he had a thought, any thought at all, it came spouting from his mouth. Her heartbeat rose as her chest slightly tightened. She knew that look- the serious romantic thoughtful one that usually came with some change in their relationship. He had looked at her this way the first night they had slept together in this bed, the memorable night of her rescue, their first night together in Oxford, the romantic Christmas Eve, and then now.

"I can feel your heartbeat," he mused. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer to him. When she was rested atop his chest with her chin resting on soft crossed arms, he continued. "It's been a year. We've been together for an entire year."

"It's absolutely mad, isn't it?" she quietly giggled. How had a year passed so soon?

"And you're happy? With me? With our present situation?"

"I'll be happier when I have a proper job," she confessed.

"You'll find one. There's no reason you won't be properly employed by fall." That was the most emotional encouragement he knew how to give but it meant all the more to her.

"What are you thinking?"

One last pause before he spoke his mind- possibly changing everything. After tonight, his life was going to change forever, for worse or for better. Sherlock gently slid her off his torso to pull out the drawer of his night stand. She didn't even try to steal a peek. He noticed the slight change of her breathing, more shallow than before. Once he returned, she joined him in sitting upright under the covers.

Then his heart began to fiercely beat against his ribs. Breathing became difficult. He had always mocked men for this but now he understood why so many blokes recalled nearly passing out. But he was above them. He had always been different. That couldn't change now. The small black box in his hand became an object to fiddle with, keeping it out of her view as he took a deep breath.

"We agreed to keep the arrangement simple. As less complicated as possible." Her eyes were completely fixed on him. "But simple doesn't coordinate with my… feelings for you. I love you more than I ever imagined having the capability, the emotional capacity, to do so." Steph began to cut him off but he continued before she could utter a single word in protest. "We've been through so much this last year. We've become fixtures in eachother's lives. I can't even think what my life would be without you a part of it. The very thought is unnatural and stings the soul I never knew I had… until you. So-"

The small box was pulled out and opened. Steph's eyes were wide and she grew speechless. Surrounded in red velvet was the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen. The cut and fashion a perfect match of her personality.

"This isn't an engagement ring because that would mean marriage, and that wasn't ever part of either of our personal agendas. But I want you for myself. Forever. I want to be the one you share the rest of your life with. Your fist and last love. I need you by my side for the rest of my life and hope you'll agree to us becoming permanent- without the legal documentation. So, I suppose I'm asking-"

"Sherlock Holmes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Not because we have a piece of decorated paper but because…" Her smile lit up the room, despite the darkness around them. "Because you challenge me every day with your snide comments and often selfish oblivious attitudes. You bring out the dreamer in me I thought had died years ago. You have saved me in every way someone can be saved and for that I owe you my very life. I want to share everything with you. We found this way of life together so I see no reason to not continue together. I love you with everything in me. Everything, my love. You're my best friend and soulmate, Sherlock."

They kissed for several minute before she felt his grin growing against her lips. The lovers parted with soft laughter. He removed the sparkling ring from the velvet and slid it up her slightly trembling hand- a perfect fit. Steph stared at it for a few seconds before returning her gaze to him.

"So if anyone asks?"

"You're as good as married," he announced.

Her excited touched expression soon dimmed, turning a bit nervous. He immediately wondered if she was having doubts. She twisted the ring around her finger, taking note of every detail, three times before looking up at him. Her bottom lip slid out from between her teeth.

"And… if I wanted to become Mrs. Holmes?"

He let out a sigh of indifference, secretly more excited than he had ever been in his life. He didn't want her to know how much it really meant to him. The moment she even thought he wanted this, she would feel obligated or trapped to go through with the insane idea.

"You want to… marry me? Legally?" He paused, making one hundred percent sure that she knew what she was doing. "Proper documents, shared last name, law binding-"

"Yes," she answered with confidence, the sweetest sparkle in her eyes.

He could no longer hold in the grin he'd been fighting since she mentioned becoming "Mrs. Holmes".

"When I was kidnapped, the second time," she added with a quick roll of her eyes. "He called me Mrs. Holmes." A thoughtful pause. "I had never wanted to be anyone's misses before that very moment. The thought alone of being eternally bound to someone was sickening and ridiculous. But then there was you." She moved closer to him until their hips touched and she put her hand over his. "I WANT to be your wife, Sherlock Holmes. You insufferable, stubborn, wonderful man."

He looked into her eyes for a few seconds, revealing no emotion in his concentrated face. Her heart raced with high hopes, awaiting his answer to her wish- the one that went against everything he had ever been.

"Then I suppose I'll have to find a tux," he stated dryly.

She squealed before throwing her arms around him. He didn't smile until she couldn't see, his head buried into her shoulder. Once she saw the overjoyed emotional look on his face, they each couldn't hold in a round of blissful laughter.

Few knew the real reason Sherlock Holmes disappeared that year. Some thought he went into retirement. Others thought his previous game with Moriarty had taken its toll on his health. But for the next five years, Sherlock and Stephanie Holmes traveled the world solving crimes and living dreams they had never been aware of. Their lives were filled with danger, high risks, endless moving from country to country, and enough romantic nights for two lifetimes. After moving back to London, they announced the coming of their first child- a baby boy they would call Hamish.


	49. Soundtrack & Special Message to Readers

An incredible (like TARDIS floating in the vortex coming for _you_) huge thank you to **kykyxstandler, Gwilwillith, KijoKuroi**

And a genuine thank you to my awesome readers, followers, and faves! You guys make me so happy!

**ArandoraStar, AuroraxHime, Captian-Winter, EllaBella2588, LVCatullus, Mililusiones, NataliaRoma97, Pretty Much A Big Deal, , QueenofElphame, Rurple101, SexyZexy, StabMeWithASmile, TheFelineFeral, TheUniquePlague, a7xluver91, baiters08, ironhideandratchet4ever, kewlmagicgurl, lynx1316, sentviaLondonInstitute, willow rain98, BlackKittenMaid, HeartlessVampireGirl, Jeanny86, MrsGHarrison, Steve-Rogers-Wife-Erin, Supernatural Fan1213, Supernatural freak 36, The Elven Daughter, 13, granitegirl2010, ironhideandratchet4ever**

* * *

If anyone is interested, I'm really thinking about a sequel to the story. It won't be one long plot like **_Repens_** but single shots and shorts from Stephlock's summer in London and their Oxford adventures. The sequel will be a lot more fluffy and less technical for the most part. I'll also be doing requests, would LOVE requests. Tell me what you guys think?!

* * *

**STEPHLOCK SOUNDTRACK**

Short Skirt/Long Jacket- Cake (Falling for Steph)  
Tighten Up- The Black Keys  
Angels on the Moon- Thriving Ivory  
Cosmic Love- Florence & The Machine (cute/romantic scenes)  
Death is the Road to Awe- The Fountain OST  
Time- Inception OST  
A Dark Knight- Dark Knight OST (Sherlock Vs. Moriarty)  
Made For You- One Republic  
City of Devils- Yellowcard  
Tennessee- Pearl Harbor OST (cute/ romantic scenes)  
Radio Active- Imagine Dragons (Chapt 36-38)  
Beneath Your Beautiful- Labrinth (cute/ romantic scenes)  
Hold Me Now- RED  
Rise- Dark Knight Rises OST  
Happiness- The Fray (Airport scene)  
Set Me on Fire- Bella Ferraro (romantic scenes)  
Poison and Wine- The Civil Wars (romantic scenes)  
Rain (Piano & Violin)- Tribute to 50 shades darker (Stephlock love theme) (Ok, I don't like the 50 shades books but came across this song and it fit them perfectly so...)


	50. Stephlock

**Since you all have almost given me a humbling 10,000 reads, I'll be posing a sequel of Stephlock shorts entitled, Stephlock. It will be mostly one shots of their summer together and their adventures at Oxford**. **Only a few more hundred reads! Until then, here is a bit of incentive ;)**

* * *

Stephanie had escaped into their bedroom hours ago and had been in great need of privacy when doing so. The phone conversation with her parents earlier had left her mood rather cynical and had allowed her former introverted self to seep through cracks of the confidence wall she had finally finished only a few semesters ago. She used to retreat to her bedroom all throughout secondary school into the first semesters of university- before her rather destructive relationship lead to bad habits and a bleak view of life. It had been some time since her last wretched day. Even when she had been kidnapped, she knew she was fighting for something; there had been a purpose for the pain. But not today.

Today, her parents had all but blatantly voiced their disappointment in her. Her headphones pushed all other noises out of her already distracted mind, eyes had been closed over an hour, arms were crossed over her ocean like chest, and her body rested lifelessly on his side of their bed. Steph reflected on the words she had heard and said earlier in the day. At first she tried to push the conversation out of her mind, going on with her day as if their chat hadn't bothered her. Their words had never cut so deeply before. Then again, their past arguments had never been about a man she had somehow fallen in love with.

This was ground they had never tread on before. For the first time, she wished she had told them about her brief unhealthy college affair. Perhaps then the present situation would be more favorable. Yet there was still the possibility that her parents would still choose her abusive drug-filled relationship to her present situation to a famous high-functioning sociopath who had recently come back from the dead. Said new boyfriend being one of her rebel aunt's tenants didn't help matters.

As The Goo-Goo Doll's song "Iris" (her favorite song in all the world) ended, she suddenly felt a gentle hand over her intertwined fingers.

"Blimey!" She nearly jumped out of her skin. "Didn't even hear you come in," she panted, recovering from fright.

"I didn't think you were in such deep meditation. My apologies," Sherlock replied after her ear buds had been removed.

"Well obviously I was," she hissed.

He was suddenly nervous. This wasn't his girlfriend. This juvenile acting girl had an unnecessary temper, a glare like daggers, and was entirely frigid. He had never been good at handling overly emotional people, even John in his own dramatic moments. Dramatic persons had always been effortless to ignore or brush off, as in Sherlock would simply leave them to obviously needed solitude. He couldn't do that at present. Action had to be taken. But what? And how?

"You need to talk," he finally announced doing his very best to remain calm.

"Stay in the sitting room. You're working on a case and I need the time alone."

He hated doing this to her but it was for her own benefit.

"You haven't said a word to me since your parents called earlier this afternoon. Your usual meal for the day has been forgotten. I figured you had a quiet side resembling my own shell I used to crawl into after a trying day but didn't imagine it this dark. Your current choice in music suggests that your emotional processes involve poetic 90's tunes-"

"Don't you dare deduce me right now. The last thing I need is _you_ picking me to pieces. Then again, maybe it's just as well you get your hits in while everyone else does."

"Your parents are not 'everyone else'."

"Because you know every living soul I am in contact with," she bitterly challenged.

"I know that the only opinions that matter are the ones expressed by the few you deeply love. And I _do_ know the few parties who fall into that small category."

"Just bloody go away," she barked, laying back down with her back towards him.

He didn't care for the way she rolled her body into that unfamiliar balled up position. She fell silent, not even bothering to retrieve the ear buds and her melancholy 90's music. He couldn't bear to see her this way. As little as he knew about relationships, he knew that no human could bottle up their emotions without unfavorable consequences. It was perfectly clear that she needed to talk out whatever rubbish and lies she had begun to believe earlier in the day. Those people cared for most had the greatest power over their minds- yet another reason he had delayed so long in caring for anyone.

It took all of five seconds for him to decide his course of action. Without warning, he knelt over the bed and scooped her into his arms. Of course she fought him but he held on all the tighter. With her in his hold, he fell onto the bed on his back, holding her tightly to his chest as she punched, kicked, and cursed him. Sherlock remained silent until she finally stilled in his arms, her yelled curses now sobs into his chest. He felt her body collapse into his, her shaking limbs wrapping around him for dear life. His hands smoothed down her hair as she cried against him. Once she was calm enough, he sat up with her.

"Talk to me," he gently whispered into her ear, more tenderness than even he knew he was capable of.

Her shoulders shook a few more times before she deeply inhaled and exhaled.

"They've been making it difficult on me since I decided to stay in London for the summer. Haven't mentioned it before because I had rather hoped they would accept the fact before now. They were just cruel earlier. I'll spare you the details-"

"Don't," he interrupted, taking her red face between his wonderfully cool hands. "I want to know every last detail."

Steph paused, wondering how she had been lucky enough to win over SherlockHolmes, the man who had proved his heart's existence to her time and time again.

"From the tainted information they have read and collected of you, they don't approve," confessed the still teary eyed girl.

"Already expected that bit," he smirked, knowing their good graces were far off into the future- if ever.

"They want me to return to their world of black and white. That is now impossible since I've become part of your colorful world of London, crime, and… Just the proof of there being someone else with my own odd ways has changed my life. Even if we hadn't become a couple, I still was fascinated by you. Not romantically but because of our minds' shared processes."

"But you haven't told me what exactly has you so worked up," he frowned, eyes still full of question.

She didn't even want to say the words.

"I'm not giving into their wishes. I'm not leaving London and I'm certainly not leaving you. They've put me in the cliché position of choosing. The very thought of choosing between one's parents and significant other is childish and illogical. We've never been extremely close but they've always honored my decisions."

"They feel I'm holding you back. For all they care, I'm simply a phase that will pass after graduation. A last 'hurrah' if you will."

"That's the basic of the situation," she sniffed before resting her head on his shoulder. "They're upset so I didn't agree to their demands for me to bring you home next week. They need time to calm down and I need time to think, sort everything through rationally.

He pulled her moist face until their eyes were locked, a breath away. Before speaking, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

"I'll do whatever you need me to. Anything. Whatever it is, just tell me. We _will_ get through this. They'll come around and if they don't-"

"You should be working on your case. Isn't tomorrow your personal deadline?"

"I didn't tell you that," he smirked, pleased at her correct deductions.

"I've picked up on a few patterns over the last several weeks," she admitted with a smug little smirk, the light in her eyes only embers compared to the beautiful green blaze he was accustomed to.

"This is far more important," he breathed while pulling her head to his chest again.

"But-"

"Don't speak. Just relax, my love."


	51. Ten Thousand

Steph leaned over his shoulder with a giggle, "Ten thousand views. It's brilliant."

"Yes, people often respond when a little incentive is given," he dryly replied, hiding his genuine excitement.

"Just don't expect them to read that horrid tobacco ash post. Really, you should take that bloody thing down, darling."

"That was the first piece I posted online. It represents where I began."

"You mean where your work was first noticed? I think that was when John began posting, dear. His blog took off much quicker than your little site." She kissed his cheek while imagining the look of annoyance on his face that very moment. "I thought your tobacco ash was cute."

"Oh, don't patronize," he scoffed.

Then John burst through the door, breathing as if he had been running for miles.

"We." Heave. "Have." Brief cough. "A client," he wheezed.

Despite their little dispute only seconds ago, Sherlock and Steph glanced towards eachother with wide grins and eyes full of mischief.

* * *

**You all gave me tears of joy! 36 hours after I posted that teaser chapter, you all gave the 800 reads needed. That's crazy! Thank you all so much for your support and enthusiasm. Do a search for "Stephlock" around 5pm EST for the first chapt. It'll be a series of one-shots finishing Stephanie's romantic/angsty summer in London then her last semester in Oxford. Sherlock makes "the big gesture" and more cuteness happens in Oxford. Please also send me scenarios you guys would like to see between them Adventure/romantic/or otherwise. SUGGESTIONS WANTED! Most will be posted chronologically but I'll skip a round here and there. You all are seriously the best! Who's up for Stephlock round 2?! **


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